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7 

Eettecia  from  ISurope  to  tlje  Olfjilticfn.  LLn 


Uncle  John 
Upon  His  Travels. 

Sr. 

Compiled   for  Publication,  with  an  Introduction, 
BT  A  UNT   ESTHER. 


LLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO: 

The  Lakeside  Publishing  Company. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1S70,  by 
The  Lakeside  Publishing  Comi'ANY, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS 


LETTER   FIRST. 
Life  on  Shipboard, ---ii 

LETTER   SECOND. 
Life  on  Shipboard.  — CoNCLyoED, 23 

LETTER   THIRD. 
A  London  Sunday-school,        ..---..32 

LETTER   FOURTH. 
Crossing  Mountains, 47 

LETTER   FIFTH. 
The  Two  Cemeteries, .60 

LETTER   SIXTH. 
Christmas  in  Paris, 74 

LETTER   SEVENTH. 
The  Story  of  a  King,        .....---87 

LETTER   EIGHTH. 
The  Story  of  a  King.  —  Concluded, 9S 

LETTER   NINTH. 
The  Birds  in  the  Palace  Garden, 108 

LETTER  TENTH, 
The  Birds  in  the  Palace  Garden.  —  Concluded,   -  117 

LETTER  ELEVENTH. 
Th£  Old  Soldiers  and  their  General,     -       -       -       -    125 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

In  another  part  of  the  book  vou  will  find  a  picture 
of  the  Palace  and  a  portion  of  the  Garden,  in  which 
you  maj  perceive  the  place  where  we  sat.  On  the 
right  of  the  picture  you  will  see  a  fine  statue;  close 
to  this  there  are  chairs  for  persons  walking  in  the 
Gardens  who  may  choose  to  occupy  them  We  took 
possession  of  two  chairs  close  to  the  statue,  and  once 
more  witnessed  the  feeding  of  the  birds,  as  mentioned 
in  the  Letter.  Our  Heavenly  Father's  care  of  the 
birds  encouraged  us  to  trust  him  anew,  for  we  felt 
sure  that  we  were  of  more  value  to  him  than  many 
sparrows. 

Returning  home,  Uncle  John  was  very  tired,  and 
went  to  rest  in  his  accustomed  place.  After  a  little 
time  he  requested  me  to  bolster  him  in  the  bed,  and 
give  him  pencil  and  paper,  which  I  did.  The  Letter 
entitled  "The  Birds  in  the  Palace  Garden"  was  the 
result. 

"The  Story  of  a  King"  comes  to  my  mind  as  I 
gaze  upon  the  picture  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
There  are  two  fine  fountains,  each  having  twelve 
statues,  every  one  of  which  holds  a  fish  in  its  hands 
from  Avhose  mouth  pours  the  water  thrown  up  into 
the  basin  above.  Between  these  fountains  you  will 
see  a  tall  column  which  is  called  an  obelisk.  It  was 
brought  from  Thebes,  and  placed  where  it  now  stands 
in  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe.  Upon  the  spot 
where  you   see   this   obelisk    stood    the    scaffold    on 


INTR  OD  UC  TION:  *J 

which  Lous  XVT.  was  beheaded,  as  described  in  the 
*'  Story  of  a  King."  About  twenty  paces  from  it, 
toward  the  right  of  the  picture,  and  near  the  Tuileries 
gate,  his  beautiful  queen,  Marie  Antoinette,  suffered 
a  like  bloody  death.  If  the  men  who  did  these  cruel 
things  had  been  taught  from  the  Bible  in  their  child- 
hood to  "fear  God"  and  "honor  the  King,"  they 
would  not,  I  am  certain,  have  stained  their  hands 
thus  with  the  blood  of  those  whom  they  had  so  many 
reasons  to  love  and  reverence. 

There  is  another  picture  which  I  must  tell  you 
about.  In  the  "  Story  of  a  Castle,"  Little  Jane, 
"  The  Young  Cottager,"  is  mentioned.  She  is  here 
seen  learning  the  verses  on  the  tombstones.  Her 
companions  are  with  her,  and  Legh  Richmond,  the 
pastor,  is  instructing  other  children  near  the  church. 
It  is  more  than  seventy  years  since  what  this  picture 
represents  took  place,  and  this  Saturday  afternoon 
school  for  religious  instruction,  for  there  were  no 
Sunday-schools  then,  has  been  heard  of  throughout 
the  world  by  reason  of  the  conversion  of  Little  Jane. 
She  died  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 

I  must  tell  you  the  conversation  with  her  pastor 
that  led  him  to  think  her  a  child  of  God.  She  was 
upon  a  sick-bed,  and  had  sent  for  him  to  instruct  and 
comfort  her.  She  had  learned  two  lines  from  a  tomb- 
stone near  that  which  you  see  her  studying.  They 
are  these  — 


INTRODUCTION. 


"Hail,  glorious  gospel,  heavenly  light,  whereby 
We  live  with  comfort  and  with  comfort  die." 


At  one  time  during  her  illness  she  quoted  these 
lines  to  Mr.  Richmond,  and  then  said,  "I  wished 
that  glorious  gospel  was  mine,  that  I  might  live  and 
die  with  comfort,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  thought  it 
would  be  so.  I  never  felt  so  happy  in  all  mj  life 
before.     The  words  were  often  in  mj  thoughts, 

'Live  with  comfort  and  with  comfort  die.' 

''Glorious  gospel,  indeed,  I  thought." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Richmond,  "what  is 
the  meaning  of  the  word  gospel.?" 

"  Good  news." 

"  Good  news  for  whom  }  " 

"  For  wicked  sinners,  sir." 

"Who  sends  this  good  news  for  wicked  sinners?*' 

"The  Lord  Almighty." 

"And  who  brings  this  good  news.?" 

"  Sir,  you  brought  it  to  me." 

"  Here,"  says  Mr.  Richmond,  "  my  soul  melted  in 
an  instant,  and  I  could  not  repress  the  tears  which 
the  emotion  excited." 

I  heard  froni  a  lady  who  keeps  the  key  of  the 
cemetery,  that  travelers  are  often  there  to  look  upon 
her  grave.  It  is  like  other  graves  of  poor  children, 
only  with  a  beautiful  white  stone,  alwaj's  kept  clean 
and  legible  by  those  who  honor  her  memory.     Thus 


INTR  OD  UC  TlOm  9 

is  the  Scripture  verified,  "Them  that  honor  me  I  will 

honor." 

This,  jou  see,  is  not  a  story  book,  although  there 

are  stories  in   it.     But  they  are  true  stories.     Uncle 

John   and  I  are  both   perfectly  certain   that  children 

oan    be   interested    in   things    true,    and    which    are 

intended  to  instruct  as  well  as  to  entertain.     May  you 

find  in  this  little  book  both  pleasure   and   profit,    is 

the  wish  of 

Aunt  Esther. 


Uncle  John  u 


PON  HIS  Travels. 


LETTER   FIRST. 


LIFE    ON    SHIPBOARD. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

HEN  I  was  a  child,  there  was  a  queer 
little  verse  which  we  were  very  fond 
of  repeating,  although  I  always  won- 
dered, and  have  not  done  wondering 
yet,  what  it  could  mean.  This  is  the  way  it 
ran: 

*' Uncle  John  is  very  sick; 

What  shall  we  send  him? 
A  piece  of  pie,  a  piece  of  cake. 

What  shall  we  send  it  in? 
In  a  golden  saucer." 


12  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

I  little  thought  that  one  day  I  should  be, 
myself,  Uncle  John,  and  that  while  tossing  and 
rolling  in  a  ship  at  sea  this  funny  little  verse  — 
at  least  its  first  line  — would  be  almost  the  only 
thing  I  could  think  of.  The  things,  however, 
which  it  is  proposed  to  "  send"  Uncle  John  were 
of  very  little  value  to  me.  I  would  not  have 
given  a  pin  for  all  the  "pies  and  cakes"  on  the 
ship,  nor  for  as  many  "  golden  saucers  "  as  could 
be  piled  to  the  top  of  the  mast.  One  day  the 
stewardess,  kind  Mrs.  Travers,  asked  me,  "  Is 
there  not  something  you  would  like  to  have.''" 
and  I  answered  her,  "  I  believe  thai  the  best 
thing  in  all  the  world  for  me,  just  now,  would  be 
a  good  slice  of  solid  ground."  I  must  tell  you 
what  a  kind  friend  I  found  in  the  man  who  takes 
care  of  the  state-rooms.  They  call  him  the  bed- 
room steward.  His  name  is  Frank  Moflat.  He 
was  as  kind  to  me  as  possible;  brought  me  the 
things  I  wanted  with  such  a  pleasant  smile,  and 
would  come  and  ask  me  so  nicely  what  I  pre- 
ferred to  eat,  suggesting  such  little  messes  as  he 
knew  are  best  when  one  is  sea-sick,  that  really  it 
seemed  as  if  he  thought  I  was  Uncle  John,  and 
that  all  the  boys  and  girls  wished  him   to   take 


LIFE    ON  SHIPBOARD.  1 3 

good  care  of  me.  I  shall  never  forget  Frank 
Moffat,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not,  either. 

After  all,  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  was  sick.  It 
seems  so  delicious  to  be  well  again.  Indeed,  I 
think  that  very  often,  perhaps  generally,  when 
people  are  getting  well  they  are  glad  they  have 
been  sick.  Getting  well  is  almost  better  than 
health  itself,  while  I  am  sure  that  we  appreciate 
health  after  sickness  as  we  never  did  before.  I 
wonder  if  when  we  reach  heaven — as  I  earnestly 
pray  we  all  of  us  may,  in  God's  good  time  —  we 
shall  not  be  all  the  happier  for  having  suffered 
so  much  on  the  earth;  if  even  the  holiness  of 
heaven  will  not  be  brighter  and  more  blessed  to 
us  after  having  seen  and  felt  the  hatefulness  and 
the  wretchedness  of  sin. 

I  did  not  think,  at  one  time,  that  I  should 
make  my  first  letter  to  you  about  our  passage 
across  the  Atlantic,  but  wait  until  I  had  met  with 
something  in  England,  where  I  now  am,  that 
might  interest  you.  You  see,  however,  that  I  am 
in  a  hurry  to  be  talking  to  you  again,  and  you 
have  made  me  believe  that  you  yourselves  will 
be  in  some  haste  to  hear  from  us.  Besides,  I 
suppose  that  very  few  of  you  haA^e  ever  seen  a 


14  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

ship,  and  none  of  you  perhaps  understand  very 
well  what  a  ship  is,  or  how  they  live  and  what 
they  do  on  board  of  one.  So  I  am  going  to  tell 
you,  and  I  think  we  shall  find  a  nice  little 
Sunday-school  lesson  in  it  all. 

The  name  of  our  ship  is  "The  Nevada." 
You  see  that  she  has  the  name  of  that  little  State 
away  over  among  the  Rocky  Mountains,  in 
America;  how  very  far  away  it  seems  to  me, 
now!  She  is  a  magnificently  large  ship;  I 
scarcely  can  tell  you,  so  that  you  can  understand, 
how  large.  I  suppose  that  if  she  were  placed 
along  the  north  side  of  the  Court-House  Square, 
in  Chicago,  she  would  reach  at  least  two-thirds 
of  the  way  from  Clark  Street  to  LaSalle,  and  I 
am  certain  that  she  is  as  long  as  almost  any  of 
the  squares,  or  blocks,  in  your  smaller  towns  or 
cities.  Being  a  steamship,  she  has  a  very  power- 
ful engine  nearly  midway  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  One  way  from  it,  towards  the  stern,  is  a 
mast,  and  the  other  way  from  it,  towards  the 
bow,  is  another.  Each  of  these  has  four  sails, 
some  of  them  quite  large.  There  is  also  a  sail 
reaching  from  the  middle  of  the  fore-mast  to  the 
bow.     Thus  there  are  nine  in  all,  and  when  they 


LIFE  ON  SHIPBOARD. 


15 


are  all  set,  and  the  wind  blows  fair,  you  may  be 
sure  that,  what  with  the  sails  and  what  with  the 
steam,  the  good  ship  flies  like  a  bird. 

There  are  a  good  many  officers  and  men  on 
such  a  ship  as  the  "  Nevada."  Besides  the  Cap- 
tain, there  is  the  first  officer,  the  second  officer, 
the  third  officer,  the  purser,  and  some  others 
whose  titles  I  do  not  know.  These  are  all  skill- 
ful men;  but  the  one  I  noticed  as  much  as  any 
other  was  one  whom  I  have  not  named  yet  —  the 
boatswain.  He  is  emphatically  the  man  of  all 
work.  He  seems  to  be  the  connecting  link 
between  the  officers  and  the  crew,  as  he  belongs 
to  both.  He  commands  like  an  officer,  but  he 
works  like  every  other  sailor.  It  is  his  business 
to  see  that  what  the  other  officers  command  is 
done,  and  often,  in  order  to  make  the  men  work 
right  and  with  a  will,  he  takes  hold  and  shows 
them  how.  If  the  sails  are  to  be  set  or  taken  in, 
he  tells  them  what  ropes  to  pull,  and  sometimes 
lays  hold  and  pulls  with  them ;  if  the  deck  is  to 
be  scoured,  he  tells  the  men  to  do  it,  and  if  they 
don't  suit  him  in  their  way  of  doing  it,  he  goes  at 
it  himself;  if  a  sail  is  to  be  mended,  you  may  see 
him  showing  how  to  do  it,  or  perhaps  even  doing 


1 6  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

it.  He  has  a  silver  whistle  hung  by  a  cord  about 
his  neck,  and  often  you  would  hear  that  whistle 
sounding  through  the  ship,  so  shrill  that  it 
seemed  to  cut  the  air  like  a  knife.  While  the 
men  drew  up  the  sails,  for  example,  he  would 
blow  upon  his  whistle,  giving  them  the  signal ; 
in  one  way  of  blowing  it  that  they  should  pull, 
pull  harder,  harder  yet,  and  in  another  that  the 
sail  was  up  and  they  might  stop.  When  the 
men  were  in  their  cabin,  he-  would  blow  his 
whistle,  and  out  they  would  come.  A  w-onder- 
ful  thing,  when  you  think  of  it,  is  the  boat- 
swain's silver  whistle.  Our  boatswain  was  a 
short,  thick-set  man,  not  nicely  dressed  like  the 
other  officers,  but  looking  as  if  all  he  thought 
about  was  getting  the  work  of  the  ship  done. 
He  had  a  sharp,  black  eye,  and  a  rugged  face, 
which  had  a  look  all  the  while  as  if  he  were 
saying  to  himself,  "  What  lazy  dogs  these  men 
are!"  He  was  not  a  polite  man,  by  a  great  deal, 
and  seemed  to  have  but  very  few  words  for  any 
body,  even  his  superior  officers.  His  voice  was 
hoarse  and  rugged,  like  himself,  as  if  it  might 
have  become  so  by  his  swallowing  so  much 
north  wind.      I  don't   know   his   name,   but  if 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD.  1 7 

I  were  to  give  him  one,  it  would  be  Jack 
Rough-and-Ready.  I  liked  him,  for  my  part, 
about  as  well  as  any  man  on  the  ship,  he  seemed 
so  thorough-going  and  so  sturdy. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  a  few  things  about  what 
they  do  on  a  ship.  A  curious  part  of  it  is  the 
way  they  have  of  dividing  the  time.  They  have 
clocks  and  watches  to  be  sure,  but  for  certain 
purposes  they  have  bells.  There  are  two  bells 
on  the  ship,  one  near  the  stern  where  the  man  is 
who  steers,  and  another  forward  of  the  engine. 
These  bells  are  rung,  one  after  another,  at  each 
hour  and  half  hour.  For  example,  in  this  way : 
Say  they  begin  to  reckon  their  time  at  twelve 
o'clock,  noon.  At  half-past  twelve  each  bell  is 
struck  once.  At  one  o'clock  each  is  struck  twice, 
or  with  one  quick  double  stroke.  This  is  two 
hells.  At  half-past  one  this  double  stroke  is 
repeated,  and  followed  by  one  single  stroke. 
At  two  they  give  each  bell  two  double  strokes; 
this  is  four  bells.  At  half-past  two  the  same, 
with  the  single  stroke  as  before,  for  the  half 
At  three,  there  are  three  double  strokes, 
making  six  bells^  and  at  half-past  the  same  as 
before.     At  four  there  are  four   double    strokes, 


1 8  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

and  this  is  eight  bells.  And  now  they  beg'ti 
agfain  and  2:0  the  same  round:  so  that  five  o'clock 
is  two  bells,  six  o'clock  is  four  bells,  seven  o'clock 
is  six  bells,  eisfht  o'clock  is  eisfht  bells.  Then 
nine  o'clock  is  two  bells  again,  ten  o'clock  is  four 
bells,  eleven  o'clock  is  six  bells,  and  twelve 
o'clock  is  eight  bells. 

Thus  you  see  that  eight  bells  comes  three  times 
in  every  twelve  hours,  with  intervals  of  foui 
bours  each  between.  At  each  of  these  eight 
bells  some  important  things  are  done,  such  as 
permitting  those  who  have  had  charge  of  the  ves- 
sel during  the  four  hours  to  rest,  and  calling 
others  to  take  their  places;  that  is  changing  the 
watch.  So  these  intervals  are  called  watches. 
In  ancient  times  they  had  similar  things,  not 
only  on  ship-board,  but  in  armies  and  cam^Ds,  and 
so  common  was  this  that  even  other  people 
besides  soldiers  and  sailors  would  divide  the 
night,  especially,  in  the  same  way.  Don't  you 
remember  some  places  in  the  New  Testament 
where  it  speaks  about  the  third  and  fourth 
"  watclies"  of  the  night.'' 

Another  thing  I  must  tell  you  about  is  how 
they  ascertain  how  fast  the  ship  goes,  and  how 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD.  1 9 

far  she  sails  each  day.  Of  course,  it  is  not,  when 
you  are  on  a  ship  at  sea,  as  when  you  are  riding 
in  a  railway  train  on  land.  There  are  no  mile- 
stones to  show  you  how  far  you  have  gone,  and 
how  much  firther  you  have  to  go.  At  the  same 
time  it  is  quite  as  important  for  those  in  charge 
of  a  ship  to  know  where  they  are,  as  it  is  for 
those  in  charge  of  a  train.  Now  they  tell  how 
fast  a  ship  goes  by  what  is  called  casting  the  log. 
I  can  remember  when  I  thought  that  really  they 
did  find  this  out  by  throwing  a  log  into  the  sea, 
but  how  that  would  show  it  puzzled  me,  as  I 
think  it  would  almost  anybody. 

But  the  log,  it  so  happens,  is  just  no  log  at  all. 
It  is  a  long  cord,  about  as  large  round  as  a 
clothes-line,  fastened  at  one  end  to  a  kind  of 
reel,  or  large  spool,  on  which  it  is  wound.  This 
big  spool  has  a  smooth  round  stick  running 
through  it  lengthwise,  about  which  it  turns 
easily,  and  each  end  of  this,  when  the  log  is  in 
use,  is  held  by  a  sailor.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
line,  that  which  is  dropped  into  the  sea,  is  a 
small  cloth  bag,  perhaps  six  inches  long  and  four 
inches  broad,  with  one  end  open  and  the  other 
shut.     They  "  cast  the  log"  by  dropping  this  end 


20  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

of  the  line  and  Its  little  bag  into  the  sea,  with 
the  open  end  of  the  bag  towards  the  ship.  Of 
course  the  bag  fills  with  water,  and  then  begins 
to  drag,  being  heavier  than  it  was  before.  It 
drags  just  hard  enough  to  make  the  big  spool 
turn  round  and  the  line  run  off,  while  it  remains 
very  nearly  In  the  same  place  itself.  Now,  as  it 
is  the  motion  of  the  ship  that  makes  the  line  run 
off,  of  course  the  line  goes  out  just  as  fast  as  the 
ship  moves,  and  if  you  know  how  many  feet  of 
line  have  run  out  In  a  given  time,  you  know 
how  many  feet  the  ship  has  gone  in  the  same 
time.     They  have  a  way  of  knowing  this. 

One  of  the  sailors,  while  the  rest  are  man- 
aging the  line,  holds  in  his  hand  a  glass,  made 
like  an  hour-glass,  but  so  arranged  that  the  sand 
In  it  runs  from  one  of  the  broad  ends  Into  the 
other,  through  the  little  passage  In  the  middle, 
in  a  mucl^  less  time  than  one  hour.  We  will 
say  that  it  is  half  a  minute,  or  fifteen  seconds. 
There  are  knots  made  In  the  line  at  certain  dis- 
tances; suppose  it  to  be  twenty-two  feet.  Two 
hundred  and  forty  of  these  knots,  with  the  twenty- 
two  feet  between  each  of  them,  would  make  just 
a  mile,  or  5,280  feet.      Two  hundred  and  forty 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD.  21 

times  fifteen  seconds,  too,  is  3,600  seconds,  or 
the  number  of  seconds  in  an  hour.  So  fifteen 
seconds  is  the  same  part  of  an  hour  that  twenty- 
two  feet  is  of  a  mile.  Thus,  you  see,  if  the 
ship  went  only  fast  enough  so  that  one  of  these 
knots  would  run  oflf — one  of  these  spaces  of 
twenty-two  feet  —  in  fifteen  seconds,  it  would  be 
going  at  the  rate  of  just  one  mile  an  hour.  The 
sailor  would  call  that  one  "knot"  an  hour,  be- 
cause only  one  knot  of  the  line  had  run  out. 
That  would  be  very  slow  sailing  indeed.  But 
suppose  twelve  of  the  knots  run  off*  in  fifteen 
seconds, — you  come  along  then  and  you  notice 
that  Jack's  face  looks  very  bright,  and  you  ask 
him,  "How  does  she  go  now.'"'  and  he  says, 
"  Twelve  knots,  sir."  He  means  that  the  ship 
is  going  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  in  an  hour; 
and  his  face  looks  bright  because  the  sailors  all 
like  to  have  the  ship  go  fast. 

Now,  you  see  that  by  casting  the  log  several 
times,  and  comparing  the  results,  they  can  in 
any  case  know  what  is  the  average  rate  of 
sailing.  These  several  results,  with  the  sum 
of  them  for  each  day,  they  put  down  in  what 
is  called  the  "  log-book."      I  will  tell  you  what 


22  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

our  log-book  showed  as  to  our  rate  of  sailing: 
On  the  first  day  we  sailed  237  miles,  on  the 
second  265,  on  the  third  270,  on  the  fourth 
281,  on  the  fifth  274,  on  the  sixth  270,  on  the 
seventh  292,  on  the  eighth  284,  on  the  ninth 
300,  on  the  tenth  315,  on  the  eleventh  240.  The 
sum  of  all  these  numbers  is  3,028.  The  distance 
from  New  York  to  Liverpool  is,  I  believe,  about 
that.  So  you  see  that  they  can  know  pretty 
nearly  how  fast  a  ship  sails  every  day. 

There    will    be    something    more    to    tell    you 
in  the  next  letter. 


LETTER   SECOND. 


LIFE    ON    SHIPBOARD CONCLUDED, 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

TILL  another  thing  it  is  very  im- 
portant to  know,  and  that  is  where- 
abouts on  the  ocean  the  ship  is;  that 
is,  its  latitude  and  longitude.  I  will 
try  to  tell  you  how  they  find  this,  and  in  as 
few  words  as  possible.  Some  of  you  know 
already,  that  if  a  person  is  standing  somewhere 
in  that  part  of  the  earth  where  the  equator  is 
• — that  is  the  line  that  is  supposed  to  run  round 
it  from  east  to  west  —  he  will  see  the  sun  at 
noon  directly  over  his  head.  If  he  then  walks 
away  from  that  place  and  comes  north  a  few 
miles,  he  will  see  the  sun,  as  he  looks  up  to  it 
at   noon,   not   exactly   overhead,  but   a   little  to 


24  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS^ 

the  south  of  him,  as  if  the  sun  had  moved, 
and  not  he.  And  the  sun  seems  to  move  just 
as  fast  in  one  direction  as  he  does  move  in  the 
other.  Suppose,  then,  that  he  wants  to  know 
how  far  north  he  has  come.  If  he  can  find 
how  far  the  sun  has  seemed  to  move  south, 
that  will  tell  him,  and  that  will  be  his  lati- 
tude^ that  is,  it  will  show  him  how  far  he  is 
from  the  equator.  Now  the  Captain  of  a  ship 
has  an  instrument  which  he  calls  a  quadrant 
—  a  very  curious  one,  but  I  must  not  describe 
it  —  by  means  of  which  he  can  always  tell, 
when  the  sun  is  in  sight,  how  far  the  sun  is 
from  the  point  in  the  sky  directly  overhead. 
We  will  suppose  that  our  Captain  some  day 
finds,  after  taking  an  "  observation,"  as  they 
call  it,  that  the  sun  is  fifty  degrees  down  from 
that  point  towards  the  place  where  the  sea  and 
sky  seem  to  meet,  or  the  horizon.  He  knows, 
then,  that  his  ship  is  at  the  fiftieth  degree  of 
north  latitude.  That  is,  he  is  fifty  degrees  north 
of  the  equator;  that  is  where  he  is,  reckoning 
north  and  south. 

How  can  he  tell  where   he  is,  reckoning  east 
and    west.''      You    know    that   every    circle   has 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD. 


25 


three  hundred  and  sixty  degrees.  The  sun, 
every  da}^,  in  consequence  of  the  earth  turning 
fair!}'  over  just  once  in  that  time,  secms^  itseH', 
to  have  gone  round  the  earth  in  a  circle.  Of 
course,  in  that  circle  there  are  360  degrees.  It 
takes  it  24  hours  to  go  through  that  number 
of  degrees.  Divide  360  by  24  and  it  will  show 
you  how  many  degrees  it  passes  over  each  hour. 
You  will  find  that  it  is  just  fifteen.  Now, 
the  earth  revolving  from  west  to  east,  the  sun 
seems  to  move,  in  consequence,  from  east  to 
west,  and  this  it  is  that  makes  the  h'me  of  day^ 
as  you  know;  and  in  making  the  time  of  day 
it  goes,  as  I  showed  you,  just  fifteen  degrees 
of  distance  in  one  hour  of  time. 

Let  us  now  imagine  two  men  standing,  one 
towards  the  east  and  the  other  towards  the  west, 
and  in  a  straight  line,  from  one  to  the  other. 
The   one  at   the  west   calls  out: 

*'  Halloo,  over  there,  my  friend,  you  early 
bird,  always  farther  along  in  the  da}^  than  I 
am,  let  me  try  how  I  may.  Do  you  know  how 
far  apart  we  are  ?  " 

"Why,  no,"  says  Early  Bird,  "I  declare  I  do 
not;  but  I  think  it  must  be  a  good  piece,  a 
2 


26  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

thousand  miles  or  so,  for  I  can  hardly  hear  you 
call." 

"  Well,  then,"  says  the  other,  "  tell  me,  at 
any  rate,  what  time  it  is  by  your  watch.  The 
sun  always  reaches  you  before  it  does  me,  and 
they  taug-ht  me,  when  I  was  a  boy,  that  he 
goes  round  the  world  at  the  rate  of  fifteen 
degrees,  or  nine  hundred  miles,  as  there  are 
sixty  miles  in  a  degree,  in  an  hour.  So,  if  we 
compare  our  watches,  and  see  what  the  differ- 
ence in  time  is,  I  guess  we  can  tell  what  the 
difference  in  place^  or  the  distance,  is."  You 
see  that  as  he  is  towards  the  West  he  is  a 
Yankee,   and   so  he   says    "  /  guessT 

Early  Bird  looks  at  his  watch,  and  it  is  just 
two  o'clock.  Yankee  looks  at  his,  and  it  is 
exactly  one  o'clock.  "Just  an  hour's  differ- 
ence," calls  out  Yankee,  "  and  so  the  distance 
is  fifteen  degrees,  or  nine  hundred  miles." 

"  Well,"  says  Early  Bird,  "  I  thought  it  must 
be  not  far  from  a  thousand  miles,  your  voice 
sounded  so  faint.  You  know  men  can't  talk 
to  each  other  at  a  distance  of  much  more  than 
a  thousand  miles  apart." 

So   you    see   there   is  always  a  difterence  of 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD.  2*J 

fifteen  degrees  in  distance,  east  and  west,  be- 
tween places  for  every  hour's  difference  in  time, 
as  shown  by  the  sun.  Now,  if  there  should 
be  some  one  place  on  the  earth's  surface  agreed 
upon  from  which  distance  should  be  reckoned, 
and  if  a  person  sailing  on  the  ocean  could  know, 
at  any  time  of  day,  exactly  what  time  it  was 
at  that  place,  he  could  tell  his  distance  from  it. 
The  captain  of  a  ship  >^a5  something  that  tells 
him  this,  exactly.  It  is  called  a  chronometer, 
and  it  shows,  always,  what  time  it  is  in  Lon- 
don, the  place  from  which  distance  east  and 
west  is  usually  reckoned.  Suppose,  then,  that 
one  day  our  Captain  looks  at  his  chronometer 
and  finds  that  in  London  it  is  just  eleven  o'clock. 
Then  he  says,  "If  I  can  find  out  what  time  it 
is  here,  I  shall  know  whei'e  I  am,  and  I  shall 
know  this,"  he  adds,  "  if  I  can  find  how  high 
the  sun  is."  So  he  takes  his  quadrant,  as  be- 
fore, and  measures  by  it,  not  this  time  how 
low  down  the  sun  is,  but  how  high  up  it  is. 
He  finds  that  where  his  ship  now  is  it  is  ten 
o'clock.  There  is,  therefore,  a  difference  of  one 
hour  of  time,  and  so  his  distance  from  London 
is  fifteen  degrees,  or   nine    hundred    miles,       lu 


28  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS, 

other  words,  his  longitude,  or  distance  west  from 
London,  is  fifteen  degrees.  Thus  he  has  ascer- 
tained that  his  distance  north  is  fifteen  degrees, 
and  his  distance  west  fifteen  degrees.  He  finds 
the  place  on  the  map  where  these  lines  of  lati- 
tude and  longitude  meet,  and  that  shows  him 
just  where  he  is. 

I  ought  to  add  that  the  Captain's  map,  or 
chart,  shows  him  always  where  he  ought  to  be. 
If,  then,  he  finds  that  in  this  case  he  is  where  he 
ought  not  to  be,  he  goes  to  his  compass,  and 
directs  the  course  to  be  changed;  that  is,  com- 
mands the  man  at  the  wheel,  or  helm,  to  turn 
it,  so  that  the  ship  will  move  in  the  way  it  ought 
to  go. 

There  are  other  things  which  I  might  tell 
you,  but  this  must  suffice  now,  and  I  am  afraid 
I  have  been  too  long  already.  But,  f'ear  boys 
and  girls,  what  may  it  all  remind  us  of  .^  Sup- 
pose we  say  it  reminds  us  of  the  ship  "  Salva- 
tion." In  this  ship  Jesus  is  the  Captain  ;  and 
the  wonderful  thing  about  him  is  that  he  is 
not  sometimes  on  deck  and  sometimes  in  the 
cabin,  sometimes  in  the  forward  part  of  the 
ship,    sometimes    in    the    after-part,    sometimes 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD.  29 

awake,  and  sometimes  asleep.  lie  Is  at  each 
moment  in  every  part  of  the  ship  ahke.  His 
"eyes  are  in  every  place,  beholding  the  evil 
and  the  good."  The  officers  in  this  ship  of 
which  Jesus  is  the  captain,  are  his  ministers; 
but  they  are  not,  as  officers  frequently  do,  to 
think  themselves  better  than  the  rest.  They 
must  be  more  like  the  boatswain,  "  ready  to 
every  good  word  and  work,"  than  like  the 
first,  second,  and  third  officers,  who  walk  the 
deck  In  gentlemen's  clothes.  Then  again,  in 
the  ship  which  Jesus  commands  there  are  no 
passengers,  or 'at  least  there  ought  to  be  none; 
no  one  whose  business  It  simply  Is  to  enjoy 
himself,  be  waited  upon,  walk  about  the  deck, 
eat,  drink,  and  sleep  ;  all  must  help  work  the 
ship.  The  compass  Is  God's  word,  and  it  always 
points  straight  to  heaven.  Casting  the  log  is 
examining  ourselves,  whether  we  be  in  the 
faith.  Taking  observations  is  studying  the  his- 
tory of  God's  dealings,  whether  with  us,  or  with 
the  church  at  large;  with  his  gracious,  un- 
changing purpose  as  the  sun  by  day  and  the 
star  by  night.  How  happy.  If  we  all  sail  In  this 
good  ship,  "  looking  unto  Jesus,"   our  Captain, 


30  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TEA  VELS. 

*'  the  author  and  the  finisher  of  our  faith ! " 
How  happy  if,  on  a  much  fairer  morning  than 
that  on  which  our  ship  sailed  into  Livei*pool, 
you  and  I,  dear  young  reader,  sail  into  the 
heavenly  port,  safely  arrived  from  the  long 
voyage ! 

I  must  tell  you  in  a  word  about  the  children 
on  board.  There  were  seven  of  them.  They 
gave  me  their  names,  and  I  have  them  down 
in  my  note-book.  They  took  a  great  liking  to 
Aunt  Esther,  at  which  I  am  not  the  least  sur- 
prised—  are  you?  One  evening  they  made  her 
tell  them  a  story  for  every  letter  in  the  alphabet. 
After  she  had  got  through  she  came  into  the 
state-room  where  Uncle  John  was  and  said, 
"Oh  dear!"  and  when  she  told  me  what  she 
had  been  doing,  I  am  sure  I  did  not  wonder  she 
should  say,  "Oh  dear!" 

But  now.  Good-bye.  I  am  like  all  other  talk- 
ative old  men ;  I  never  know  when  to  leave  off. 
It  is  as  when  we  were  at  the  harbor  of  Qiieens- 
town,  in  Ireland,  and  the  pilot  wanted  them  to 
stop  the  ship.  "  Stop  her,"  he  called  out,  but 
they  did  not  seem  to  understand.  '-'-Stop  her!" 
he  vociferated  once  more,  with  all  his  strength. 


LIFE   ON  SHIPBOARD. 


31 


The  reader  of  this  description,  I  am  sure,  has 
been  saying,  for  some  time,  "Stop  her;"  and 
now  he  says,  ''Stop  her!''  Well,  I  will  stop 
her.     And  now  she  stops. 

Uncle  John. 


>LETTER   THIRD. 


A    LONDON    SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

AM  veiy  glad  that  1  am  able  to 
describe  to  yon,  in  this  letter,  a  Lon- 
don Sunday-school,  and  to  tell  you 
something  about  the  Sunday-schools 
generally  of  this  great  city.  Last  Sabbath,  in 
the  aftemoon,  I  went  with  Col.  J.  T.  Griffin, 
who  once  lived  in  Chicago,  and  was  Superin- 
tendent of  the  North  Baptist  School,  to  the 
Sunday-school  of  Regent's  Park  chapel,  where 
Rev.  Wm.  Laadels,  D.D.,  a  veiy  able  and 
excellent  man,  is  pastor.  You  see  that  I  say 
"chapel,"  and  not  '^  church,"  as  we  should  say 
in  America.  To  "•  attend  church,"  in  this  coun- 
try, is  to  go  to  some  of  the  places  of  worship 
of   the  Church  of   England,  that  is  the  church 


A   L  OND  ON  S UNDA  T- S CHO OL.  33 

supported  by  the  Government,  the  Established 
Church.  This  is  a  way  of  speaking  which  peo- 
ple have,  although  Baptists,  Methodists,  and 
other  bodies,  think  that  their  churches  ai-e 
churches,  jus?  >.b  much  as  those  connected  with 
the  Establishment.  There  is  a  church  at  Re- 
gent's Park  chapel,  and  it  is  a  Baptist  church, 
and  a  good  one  too.  I  will  tell  you  more  about 
the  Sunday-school  further  on.  Just  here  I  must 
deliver  a  message  from  the  children,  and  in 
order  to  come  at  it  easily,  perhaps  I  had  best 
tell  how  they  came  to  send  it. 

Uncle  John  was  invited  to  address  the  school, 
but  at  first  declined  because  he  thought  every- 
thing would  be  so  strange  to  him  that  he  should 
be  embarrassed,  and  frightened,  and  not  know 
what  to  say.  But  as  he  went  round  among 
the  classes  he  found  that  the  boys  and  girls 
looked  just  as  boys  and  girls  do  in  America, 
and  they  were  so  pleasant,  and  seemed  so  much 
interested  in  trying  to  learn  good  things  out  of 
the  Bible,  that  finally  he  concluded  he  should 
not  be  so  much  afraid  of  them,  after  all.  And 
then,  as  he  told  them  in  a  little  speech  which 
he  made,  he  wished  to  write  to  his  young  friends 


34  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

in  America  about  this,  the  first  Sunday-school 
which  he  had  visited  in  London,  and  it  did  not 
seem  quite  fair  to  do  this  without  asking  their 
consent.     So  he  said  to  them, 

"Are  you  wilHng  that  I  should  write  about 
you  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  Northwestern 
S  ates  in  America  ?  If  so,  just  raise  your  right 
hands,   that  I  may  know." 

And  every  hand  came  up;  they  seemed  very 
willing,  and  very  much  pleased. 

Then  he  said :  "  Now  the  Sunday-school  chil- 
dren in  America  will,  I  am  sure,  be  greatly 
interested  in  learning  about  this  school  in  Lon- 
don, that  wonderful  city  of  which  they  have 
heard  so  much.  If  they  had  known  that  I  was 
going  to  meet  you  here,  they  would  all  have 
sent  their  love  to  you.  Would  you  not  like  to 
send  this  message  to  them?  Shall  I  say  to 
them  that  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  Regent's 
Park  Sunday-school  in  London,  send  their  love 
to  the  Sunday-schools  in  the  Northwestern  States 
of  America?" 

And  ever}^  hand  came  up  again.     This  is  how 

*it  happened    that    I    have  this   message  to  send 

you.     Of  course,  they  did  not  know  that  I  was 


A  LONDON  SUNDAl'.SCHOOL. 


35 


Uncle  John  until  I  told  them,  nor  did  they 
realize  that  Sunday-school  children  in  England 
could  love  Sunday-school  children  in  America, 
and  send  pleasant  messages  to  them,  until  they 
had  been  reminded  of  it;  but  then  they  found 
that  they  could.  And  this  led  Uncle  John  to 
mention  another  thing  which  he  will  repeat 
here,  because  he  would  like  to  have  his  own 
boys  and  girls  think  about  it.     He  said: 

"It  seems  almost  singular  that  we  should 
be  able  to  love  persons  whom  we  have  never 
seen,  and  yet  I  am  sure  that  we  can.  The 
children  of  America  can  love  the  children  of 
England,  and  those  in  England  can  love  those 
in  America,  although  they  should  never  see 
each  other  in  this  world.  Can  any  of  you  tell 
me  of  some  one  whom  none  of  us  have  ever 
seen,  yet  whom  we  all  ought  to  love?" 

A  little  boy  answered  very  promptly,  "Jesus!" 
"  Yes,  Jesus ;  we  all  ought  to  love  him  though 
we  have  never  seen  him,  and  many  of  us,  I 
hope,  do  so.  But  we  do  not  love  him  all  at 
once,  nor  just  so  soon  as  we  begin  hearing  or 
reading  about  him.  What  must  we  first  be-' 
come,  that  we  may  love  Jesus  as  we  ought?" 


36  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

The  answer  was,  very  j^^'O'^^'pt^y  again, 
"  Christians." 

This  was  a  right  answer,  and  Uncle  John 
told  them  he  hoped  they  might  all  become 
Christians,  and  might  all  love  Jesus,  even  now 
while  they  cannot  see  him,  that  at  last  they 
may  rejoice  the  more,  when  they  shall  ''  see 
him  as  he  is." 

This  nice  and  pleasant  school  at  Regent's 
Park  has  upon  its  list  of  scholars  756  names; 
the  average  attendance  is  513.  There  is,  besides, 
a  branch  school,  what  we  should  call  a  mission 
school,  with  an  average  attendance  of  240.  In 
the  two  schools  there  are  just  about  one  thousand 
scholars,  all  told;  which  is  certainly  a  very  good 
number  indeed.  Some  things  about  "the  home 
school,"  or  the  one  at  the  chapel,  are  different 
from  what  is  customary  in  America.  There  are 
three  departments  in  it,  instead  of  two,  as  with 
us.  These  are  called  the  "  Senior  School,"  the 
"Junior  School,"  and  the  "  Infont  School." 
Tliey  meet  in  separate  rooms,  but  rooms  that 
oi^en  into  each  other  in  a  very  convenient 
way.  In  the  senior  school  are  the  largest  schol- 
ars, in  the  junior  school  those  younger,  and  in 


A  LONDON  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  37 

the  infant  school  the  Httle  bits  of  folks.  I 
visited  all  three,  and  was  delighted  to  see  how 
orderly,  attentive,  and  earnest  they  seemed  to 
be,  with  very  few   exceptions. 

Anotlier  thing  which  they  have,  and  we  do 
not,  is  the  Sunday -morning  service.  It  is  the 
custom  in  London  for  the  schools  to  meet 
twice  on  each  Lord's  day;  in  the  morning  at 
ten  o'clock,  and  in  the  afternoon  at  three.  I 
find,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  afternoon  school  is 
always  much  better  attended  than  the  morning 
one,  by  both  scholars  and  teachers.  Indeed,  I 
think  a  good  many  are  beginning  to  doubt  if 
they  can  keep  up  the  morning  school  at  all. 
Now,  at  the  Regent's  Park  chapel,  the  Sunday- 
school  workers,  some  months  ago,  began  to  ask 
themselves  if  they  could  not  find  some  way  to 
make  the  morning  session  more  attractive  to 
the  children.  So  they  determined  that  they 
would  have  what  they  call  a  "  Sunday-morning 
service "  —  not  lessons,  as  in  the  afternoon,  but 
what  we  Americans  term  "  a  good  time  gen- 
erally," in  singing,  prayers,  and  addresses.  They 
find  that  the  plan  works  very  well  indeed. 
The   children   like   it,    the   teachers  like  it,   and 


38  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

they  have  no  difficulty  now  in  securing  a  full 
attendance.  They  meet  at  ten  o'clock,  spend 
about  half  the  time  till  half-past  eleven  in 
singing  and  praying,  and  the  remainder  in 
addresses. 

I  w^Ill  tell  you  something  more  about  these 
addresses.  They  are  given,  mostly,  by  those 
connected  w^ith  the  school  as  officers  and  teach- 
ers, and  other  members  of  the  church.  If  1 
give  you  some  of  the  subjects  you  w^ill  see  a 
little  w^hat  they  are.  On  the  first  Sabbath  in 
October,  for  example.  Col.  Griffin,  who  is  a 
greatly  beloved  member  of  the  church,  and  has 
an  exceedingly  interesting  Bible  class  in  the 
afternoon,  addressed  the  children  at  their  morn- 
ing service  upon  the  word  ''  Up."  On  the  first 
Sabbath  in  the  present  month  (November)  he 
addressed  them  upon  the  letters  "  H.  H.  H." — 
by  which  he  meant  the  words,  "  Hark,  Heed,- 
Hold."  On  the  first  Sabbath  in  December  his 
subject  will  be  "Rest."  Mr.  S.  Shirley,  a 
former  superintendent,  who  was  very  kind  in 
showing  Uncle  John  the  different  rooms,  is  to 
give  the  address  upon  the  third  Sabbath  in 
December.      His   subject    will    be,   "  A    Little 


A  LONDON  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  39 

Child."  I  think  I  know  what  Httle  child  he 
will  talk  about.  Mr.  Holman,  the  present  super- 
intendent, speaks  at  these  services  quite  fre- 
quently. One  of  his  subjects  has  been,  "  Making 
a  Curtsey,"  another,  "  Fallen  Leaves,"  another, 
"  A  Story  of  a  November  Fog."  Next  nionth 
he  is  to  speak  upon  "A  Burning  Village."  Other 
subjects  have  been,  "  A  Bunch  of  Keys,"  Mr. 
Brady;  "Links  in  a  Chain,"  Mr.  Bailey;  "Les- 
sons from  the  Life  of  Moses,"  Mr.  Cluck; 
"Snakes,"  Mr.  Bompar;  "House-Building," 
Mr.  Cluck.  These  are  just  specimens.  You 
see  that  they  are  what  the  grown  people  some- 
times call  "suggestive;"  that  is,  they  are  things 
that  make  us  think,  almost  whether  we  will 
or  no. 

I  asked  some  of  the  brethren  if  this  Sunday 
morning  service  did  not  interfere  with  that  of 
the  congregation  up  stairs.  They  said  it  did 
not,  for  the  children  meet  half  an  hour  before 
the  congregation  does,  and  so  get  all  through 
with  their  singing  before  the  up-stairs'  service 
begins,  and  after  that  are  very  quiet.  They  are 
dismissed  at  half-past  eleven,  and  are  gone  home 
before  the  congregation  to  whom   the  pastor  has 


40  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

been  preaching  begins  to  come  out.  It  seemed 
to  me,  however,  that  I  should  myself  prefer  to 
have  the  children  of  the  families  in  the  con- 
gregation sit  w^ith  their  parents,  at  the  regular 
service;  but  I  was  told  that  very  few  of  these 
children  in  the  Sunday-school  are  children  in 
families  of  the  congregation.  They  are  mostly 
of  families  who  perhaps  do  not  attend  service 
regularly  anywhere,  and  many  of  them,  I  pre- 
sume, would  be  running  in  the  streets  if  this 
provision  were  not  made  for  them.  With  us, 
you  know,  the  Sunday-schools  are  made  up 
very  largely  from  the  families  of  the  church 
and  the  congregation.  I  do  not  think  that  in 
America  we  need  such  an  arrangement  so  much 
as  it  is  needed  here,  and  perhaps  could  not 
make  it  work  well,  anyhow.  But  I  could  not 
help  feeling  sorry  that  the  children  of  the 
regular  congregation  did  not  attend  the  schools 
here  more  than  they  do,  both  for  their  own 
sake  and  for  that  of  the  wandering  children 
whom  they  might  influence  by  such  a  good 
example. 

They   are  very  active,  and  very  systematic,  I 
should    think,    in    this    Regent's   Park    school. 


A  LONDON  SVND AT- SCHOOL.  4 1 

They  have  the  work  of  each  three  months  laid 
out  in  advance,  and  printed  upon  cards.  Thus 
on  one  of  the  cards  I  found  this : 

Thursday.,  Nov.  4. — Old  Scholars'  Meeting.  Tea  at 
7  o'clock, 

Tuesday.,  Nov.  9. — Scholars'  Missionary  Working 
Party  at  3  o'clock. 

Tuesday.,  Nov.  16. — Scholars'  Missionary  Meeting, 
with  Addresses. 

Tuesday,  Nov.  23. —  Teachers'  Business  Meeting. 
Chair  to  be  taken  at  3  o'clock. 

On  another  card,  which  Is  intended  to  be 
given  to  each  teacher  at  the  beginning  of  the 
month,  there  is  stated  what  particular  service 
each  one  is  to  perforin  on  each  Sabbath  of  the 
month.  Perhaps  it  is  "  sit  with  the  children ;  " 
perhaps  "  attend  at  quarter  to  three,"  for  singing 
or  some  other  purpose,  I  suppose ;  perhaps 
"  open  '*  or  "  close  the  Senior  School,"  with 
prayer;  perhaps  "-open"  or  "close  the  Junior 
School."  Then,  under  this,  I  find  the  follow- 
ing: 

"  It  is  essential.,  in  order  to  secure  efficient  teaching 
and  good  order.,  for  tack    Teacher  — 

I.  To  prepare  the  lessons  before  entering  the 
class. 


42  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

2.  To  attend  early,  and  in  case  of  absence  to  fur- 
nish a  substitute. 

3.  To   visit   scholars    at   their   homes. 

4.  To  punctually  fulfill   school  engagements;    and 

5.  To  insist  upon  silence  immediately  the  Super- 
intendent strikes  the  bell." 

They  are  doing  a  good  deal  of  work,  evi- 
dently, in  the  Regent's  Park  church  and  school. 
Just  see  how  many  societies  they  have.  There 
is  the  "  Domestic  Mission  Society,"  which  raised, 
last  year,  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  The 
branch,  or  mission  school,  is  sustained  by  this 
society;  it  provides  preaching,  also,  in  some 
of  the  destitute  parts  of  the  city;  it  has  a 
"  Mother's  Class,"  a  "  Medical  Friends'  Club," 
a  "Mutual  Aid  Society,"  a  "Loan  Library," 
and  a  "  Penny  Bank,"  by  means  of  which  poor 
persons  are  enabled  to  save  a  little  money. 
There  is  besides  a  Young  Men's  Association, 
which  has  lectures,  holds  meetings  for  discus- 
sions and  devotional  purposes,  and  a  Sunday 
conversation  meeting,  or  Bible  class,  of  which 
I  spoke  before,  and  over  which  Col.  Grifiin 
presides.  This  meeting,  or  class,  is  held  every 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  is  made  up  of  all  who 
can   l>e  induced  to  attend   it.     The  young  men 


A  LONDON  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  43 

and  young  ladies  of  the  church  and  school  go 
out  upon  the  street  half  an  hour  before  the 
time,  with  tracts,  and  invite,  "  compel,"  all 
they  can  to  "  come  in ; "  and  a  good  many 
come.  Sometimes  there  are  as  many  as  a 
hundred  present.  Conversions,  too,  frequently 
occur;  and  there  have  been  instances  of  care- 
less ones,  brought  in  from  the  street,  convicted 
of  sin  at  their  first  meeting  with  the  class,  and 
soon  after  brought  to  Christ.  What  a  truly 
blessed  thing  this  is! 

Besides  these  organizations  alread}^  named, 
there  are  the  "  Benevolent  Society,"  whose  object 
is  to  visit  and  relieve  cases  of  sickness  and  ex- 
treme necessity  among  the  poor,  at  their  own 
habitations;"  the  "Dorcas  Society,"  which  pur- 
chases and  makes  up  clothing  for  poor  women 
in  the  neighborhood ;  and  the  "  Missionary 
Society"  which  raises  money  for  foreign  mis- 
sions. As  nearly  as  I  can  ascertain,  these  several 
organizations,  including  the  Sunday-schools,  raise 
for  the  purposes  named,  at  least  $4,500. 

I  have  given  you  all  these  particulars  that 
you  and  the  teachers  in  Sunday-schools,  and 
the  members   of  churches,  so  far   as    such   may 


44  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

care  to  read  what  I  write,  may  see  something 
of  the  way  London  Baptists  work.  Probably 
other  churches  are  equally  systematic  and  faith- 
ful. I  do  not  wonder  that  the  Lord  blesses 
them. 

I  must  now  tell  you  that  there  is  in  London 
a  Sunday-school  Union,  in  which  the  faithful 
w^orkers  in  different  denominations  are  united 
for  promoting  the  good  cause.  Some  of  the 
gentlemen  connected  with  this  society,  especially 
Mr.  Fountain  J.  Hartley,  have  been  very  obliging 
to  me  in  furnishing  me  the  means  of  informa- 
tion regarding  this  work.  I  wish  I  had  more 
room  than  I  have  to  tell  you  about  it.  The 
exact  number  of  teachers  and  scholars  connected 
with  all  the  schools  of  London  I  have  not  been 
able  to  ascertain,  as  not  all  the  schools  of  the 
city  are  represented  in  the  Union.  As  nearly 
as  can  be  ascertained,  however,  there  were  m 
1867,  three  years  ago,  about  986  schools  in  the 
city  —  almost  a  thousand  —  with  216,151  scholars 
in  them.  I  presume  there  must  be  now  over 
a  thousand  schools,  with  perhaps  nearly  or 
quite  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  scholars.  Of 
schools    connected    with    the  Union  there  v/ei^, 


A  LONDON  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  45 

in  1866,  or  three  years  since,  652,  with  160,158 
scholars.  Of  the  schools  534  have  libraries,  con- 
taining in  all  147,284  volumes;  128  of  the 
schools,  however,  have  no  libraries.  It  was 
supposed,  at  the  time  just  mentioned,  that  there 
were,  in  England  and  Wales,  3,000,000  of 
scholars,  and  probably  this  is  not  far  from  the 
number  now. 

London  contains,  you  know,  a  population 
of  more  than  three  millions.  It  is  a  pleasing 
fact  that  there  should  be  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
million  of  Sunday-scholars  in  the  number.  But 
there  are  a  great  many  boys  and  girls,  even 
now,  who  know  nothing  about  Sunday-schools 
or  about  Jesus.  Faithful  men  and  women  are 
trying  hard  to  provide  for  them  and  bring  them 
where  they  may  learn  how  to  be  saved.  But 
it  is  a  vast  work.  Think,  dear  children,  of  a 
single  city  with  more  people  in  it  than  the 
whole  State  of  Illinois!  O,  how  many  poor 
and  suffering  ones  there  are  here!  My  heart 
aches  for  them.,  as  I  meet  them  every  time  I 
go  out  upon  the  street.  If  Uncle  John  had  his 
pockets  full  of  money  when  he  takes  his  hat 
and  cane  and  goes   for  a  walk,  he  might  come 


46 


UNCLE  yo/m    UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 


back  without  a  sixpence,  if  he  was  to  give  to 
all  who  ask,  and  to  whom  he  would  be  glad 
to  give.  But  he  has  to  remember  that  there  is 
both  a  "Number  One"  and  a  "Number  Two" 
for  him  to  think  of,  and  it  would  not  answer 
for  him  to  have  no  money  left  for  the  landlady 
who  keeps  the  lodging-house,  or  to  buy  rail- 
road tickets  when  he  starts  next  Monday  or 
Tuesday  morning  for  Paris.  So  you  see  he 
must  try  to  harden  his  head,  if  not  his  heart, 
and  not  be  too  "  soft." 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER  FOURTH. 


CROSSING    MOUNTAINS. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

N  my  first  letter  I  told  you.  something 
about  the  way  people  cross  oceans; 
perhaps  you  would  like  to  know  a 
few  things,  also,  about  crossing  moun- 
tains. There  is  a  considerable  difference  be- 
tween the  two  undertakings,  yet  sometimes 
people  have  to  do  about  as  queer  things  in 
the  one  as  they  do  in  the  other. 

When,  in  America,  I  was  thinking  and  pLm- 
ning  about  this  visit  to  Europe,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  it  would  be  quite  an  easy  matter  to  get  from 
London  to  Rome.  The  whole  of  Europe  takes 
up  but  a  small  part  of  the  map  of  the  eastern 
continent,  and  although  I  knew,  of  course,  that 
there  are  some  big  countries  and  big  people  in  it, 


48  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

still  I  somehow  imagined  that  one  could  run 
across  it,  from  north  to  south  at  all  events,  very 
much  as  he  might  take  a  run  from  Chicago 
down  to  Cairo.  Uncle  John,  in  his  simplicity  — 
and  all  old  men  who  have  scarcely  been  out  of 
sight  of  their  own  chimney-tops  are  simple — did 
not  realize  that  it  is  almost  fifteen  hundred  miles 
from  London  to  Rome,  and  that  whoever  goes 
from  one  to  the  other,  be  it  winter,  be  it  sum- 
mer, must  either  cross  the  Alps,  or  must  take 
a  ride  on  the  Mediterranean  —  a  sea  that  is 
always,  or  at  least  very  often,  out  of  temper 
in  the  winter  season  —  or  must  go  a  round- 
about way  in  the  stage. 

When  I  reached  Paris,  I  found  that  either  I 
must  take  to  the  sea  again,  and  suffer  prob- 
ably as  I  had  ah^eady  done,  or  the  mountains 
must  be  crossed.  They  told  us  of  a  gentleman 
who  had  but  a  few  days  before  been  stopped 
by  the  snow  at  the  top  of  Mont  Cenis,  where 
the  railway  over  the  Alps  is,  and  had  spent 
four  days,  "  living  on  dry  bread  and  black  cof- 
fee." Still  I  must  go  to  Rome,  and  I  was  less 
afraid  of  the  snow  than  of  the  sea-sickness; 
so  my  friend,  Mr.  "  Keynote,"  and  I  said  to  each 


CROSSING  MOUNTAINS.  49 

Other,  *'  One  man  has  been  snowed  In  and  had 
a  tough  time.  Others  are  crossing  every  day 
without  getting  snowed  in.  Evidently  it  can 
be  done,  so  let  us  try."  And  that  is  how  we 
came  to  cross  the  mountains. 

In  America  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for 
railroads  to  be  built  across  mountains.  But  all 
mountains  are  not  like  the  Alps,  by  considera- 
ble. Then  our  American  railroads  for  the  most 
part  may  be  said  to  go  through  mountains,  rather 
than  over  them;  and  so  are  they  trying  to  go 
through  the  Alps,  or  rather  under  them,  in  tlie 
highest  part,  by  means  of  a  tunnel  they  are  now 
making,  which  is  to  be  seven  miles  long.  By 
means  of  that  tunnel  they  will  be  able  to  avoid 
the  worst  part  of  the  route  by  which  we  came 
across.  At  present  the  road  runs  square  over 
high  Mont  Cenis,  which  is  a  rather  queer  thing 
for  a  railroad  to  do. 

You  must  imagine  us  then — "Keynote"  and 
myself,  for  the  ladies  preferred  to  stop  in  Paris  — 
setting  out  from  that  city. on  a  certain  evei\ing 
in  a  kind  of  lazy  snow-storm,  which,  however, 
kept  us  all  the  while  wondering  if  it  snowed 
on  the  mountains  too.  We  had  arrived  at 
3 


50  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

Paris  from  London  a  few  days  before.  Start 
with  us.  now,  as  we  get  into  a  "carriage" — 
that  is  what  they  call  a  "car"  in  Europe  —  and 
wrapping  ourselves  up  in  blankets,  much  as  I 
have  seen  women  roll  babies,  gradually  drop- 
ping asleep  while  the  train  rushes  on.  We  go 
south  for  a  while,  and  then  turn  a  little  east. 
I  wonder  if  you  can  find  .Macon  on  your  n:iap 
of  France.  That  is  one  of  the  places  where  we 
were.  Then  we  went  to  a  place  called  Cham- 
bery,  still  farther  south  and  a  good  deal  farther 
east.  There  we  were  among  the  mountains; 
in  Savoy,  where  the  persecuted  VValdenses  and 
Albigenses  lived  and  suffered  ages  ago.  I  dare- 
say that  they  may  have  had  hiding-places  among 
some  of  these  mountains,  or  may  have  lived  in 
some  of  those  little  valleys  that  run  away  up 
yonder  Into  their  depths,  as  if  made  on  purpose 
for  God's  persecuted  saints  to  hide  in.  But  what 
mountains  they  were!  —  not  heavily  wooded, 
from  base  to  summit,  as  many  of  our  Ameri- 
can mountains  are,  but  wild,  tremendous,  awful 
piles  of  rocks,  heaped  up  to  the  very  clouds. 
How  stern  they  looked!  And  still  I  loved  them, 
for  they  have  been  kind  to  those  to  whom  man 


CROSSING  MOUNTAINS. 


51 


was  fierce  and  cruel,  and  their  rocky  hearts  are 
soft  and  tender  compared  with  the  hearts  of  those 
who  used  to  chase  the  poor  Christians  among 
them,  and  throw  them  down  the  precipices. 
Have  any  of  you  ever  read  those  Hues  of  Milton, 
which  begin, 

"Avenge,    O    Lord,    thy   slaughtered    saints,   whose 

bones 
Lie  buried  on  the   Alpine  mountains  cold." 

Among  these  heights  it  was,  somewhere,  that 
the  fierce   soldiery  of  the  persecutor  would   hurl 

"  Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks." 

I  wonder  if  the  people  who  live  in  the  villages 
that  nestle  here  and  there,  at  the  base  of  these 
great  mountains,  are  like  those  Waldenses  and 
Albigenses.  Their  villages  are  queer-looking 
things;  clusters  of  very  old  dwellings,  crowded 
close  together,  with  little  bits  of  windows,  and 
in  appearance  as  if  the  pigs  and  chickens  were 
under  the  same  roof  with  father  and  mother  and 
Jean  and  Elizabetta,  and  quite  as  much  at  home. 
There  is  a  turnip  patch,  here  a  little  cabbage 
garden;  there  the  winter  wheat  is  springing  up; 


52  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

and  here  is  a  vineyard,  the  vines  stripped  of  their 
leaves,  but  the  stakes  that  held  them  up  still 
standing.  Now  and  then  a  group  passes  along 
the  road  near  which  the  railroad  runs,  plain- 
looking  people,  hard-working,  evidently,  not  rich 
I  am  very  certain  —  whether  they  are  good  I  do 
not  know ;  I  hope  they  are. 

But  we  have  yet  to  cross  the  mountains,  and 
must  not  dally  and  chatter  down  here,  when  vs^e 
are  many  a  long  mile  from  those  hardest  to  get 
over,  and  the  day,  meanwhile  —  for  we  have  rode 
all  night  and  another  is  approaching — wanes  fast. 
Well,  here  at  last  we  are,  at  San  Michel,  and 
here  we  must  change  cars;  for  such  a  train  as  we 
have  come  in  so  far  could  never  get  over,  nor 
could  such  a  locomotive  as  we  have  had  climb 
the  great  mountain  yonder.  So  we  get  into 
some  narrow  cars  where  there  is  barely  room  for 
the  people  to  sit  down.  This  is  in  order  that  the 
train  may  be  as  light  as  possible.  If  we  looked 
at  the  track  before  we  got  in,  we  saw  perhaps  a 
curious  thing;  that  it  had  three  lines  of  rails  in- 
stead of  two,  the  niiddle  one  higher  than  those  on 
the  outside.  The  locomotive,  too,  if  we  in 
spected   it,   was  found  to  have  some  additional 


CR  OS  SING  MO  UNTAINS.  53 

wheels  very  curiously  j^l'^^ced.  They  are  not 
fixed  edgewise,  like  other  wheels,  but  are  placed 
with  the  side  down,  and  are  held  up  above  the 
ground  so  as  not  to  touch  it  at  all.  Their  edges 
are  rough,  made  into  teeth,  as  you  might  say; 
and  that  may  help  us  understand  why  that  third 
rail  which  we  noticed  is  all  full  of  notches.  If 
we  ask  the  engineer  about  it,  all  he  will  tell  us  is, 
that  these  horizontal  wheels  are  fixed  so  as  to 
come  on  each  side  of  that  middle  rail,  and  when 
he  wants  them  to  help  pull  the  train  he  fixes  the 
machinery  so  that  it  makes  them  clasp  the  rail, 
and  then  turn  round  like  the  other  wheels,  while 
the  teeth  play  in  the  notches,  and  every  one  as  it 
comes  in  and  out  gives  a  push  and  so  helps  the 
locomotive  drag  its  load  along.  A  man  by  the 
name  of  Fell  was  determined  to  have  a  railroad 
over  these  mountains,  and  that  is  how  he  went  to 
work  to  do  it.  I  am  sure  that  he  must  be  a 
brave  man  as  well  as  a  skillful  one,  and  I  almost 
think  that  he  ought  to  spell  his  name  with  a  T 
instead  of  an  F.  I  wonder  if  you  know  what 
makes  me  think  so. 

Well,  we  are  not  yet  over  the  mountains,  nor 
even  started.     But   at  last  we  get  under  way. 


54  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

Up  we  go.  The  train  stops  every  few  miles,  I 
suppose  to  get  up  fresh  steam.  Up  we  go.  The 
river,  on  whose  banks  we  were  a  Httle  time  since, 
is  now  far  down  in  the  gorge  there.  The  brain 
ahnost  reels  as  we  look.  What  a  beautiful  val- 
ley that  is,  too,  down  there,  with  its  little  village 
clustering  about  the  plain  old  church  in  the 
midst.  Here,  near  the  side  of  the  track,  is  the 
entrance  to  the  tunnel  they  are  making,  in  order 
to  dodge  the  mountain  we  shall  come  to  soon; 
and  here,  now,  is  another  village,  this  time  cling- 
ing to  the  mountain  side,  not  afraid  of  the  ava- 
lanche, though  I  should  think  it  would  be.  Up 
we  go,  and  now  we  are  where  for  hours  back  we 
have  seen  the  thick  mist  and  the  snow.  In  the 
valley  below,  it  was  like  an  April  day,  so  mild 
and  gentle;  here  it  is  winter.  Do  you  see  that 
group  of  boys  }  Some  of  the  passengers  have 
thrown  out  pennies,  and  they  scramble  for  them 
just  as  I  have  seen  a  lot  of  wild  chickens  when 
some  one  has  thrown  amongst  them  a  handful  of 
corn.  There  is  a  little  girl  holding  her  apron,  as 
we  stop  for  a  while,  hoping  for  a  penny;  she 
needs  it,  poor  thing,  I  dare  say.  And  thus  we 
go  on  and  up,  till  the  snow  becomes  very  deep, 


CROSSING  MOUNTAINS.  55 

and  the  engine  labors  and  at  times  nearly  stops; 
but  it  is  plucky,  and  perseveres ;  and  so  at  last  we 
reach  the  mountain  top,  where  the  first  Emperor 
Napoleon  caused  a  "  hospice  "  or  house  of  refuge, 
to  be  built,  in  which  persons  overtaken  by  storms 
on  the  mountain  might  find  shelter.  Back  a  few 
miles  we  saw  an  immensely  strong  fort,  built  to 
guard  the  pass,  and  armed,  perhaps,  even  now, 
with  weapons  to  kill.  I  believe  Napoleon  had 
something  to  do  with  that,  too.  I  like  this  other 
building  much  the  best;  a  long,  low,  but  solid 
one,  with  plenty  of  room,  and  bright  lights  in 
some  of  the  windows  that  glance  cheerfully  out 
into  the  darkness  and  the  storm.  Passing  this, 
we  soon  begin  to  go  down  upon  the  opposite  side 
of  the  mountain,  and  in  due  time  are  at  Susa, 
which  is  in  Italy,  at  the  southern  base  of  these 
western  Alps.  Here  we  get  a  supper,  and 
then  take  a  train  with  the  other  sort  of  cars 
again,  and  are  off  for  Turin,  and  Florence, 
and  Rome.  And  that  is  how  we  cirossed  the 
mountains. 

Now,  as  I  make  It  out,  these  several  things  are 
necessary  in  crossing  mountains,  and  I  speak  of 
them  because  crossing  mountains  is  a  thing  we 


56  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

all  have  to  do  some  time  or  other,  and  it  is  well 
to  know  how. 

Fust.  I  take  it,  there  must  be  a  way  over, 
Mont  Cenis,  the  mountain  which  we  crossed, 
is  a  formidable  thing-  to  find  in  one's  path,  and 
I  can  easily  fancy  an  eagle  in  some  of  its  rocky 
heights,  screeching-  defiance  in  answer  to  the 
scream  of  the  locomotive  far  down  below,  and 
scorning  the  notion  that  with  anything  besides 
wings  the  great  mountain  can  be  passed.  But 
there  is  a  way  over  it;  one  that  the  eagle  does 
not  know  of.  Somewhat  like  that  of  w^hich  we 
read,  which  the  vulture*s  eye  hath  not  seen,  and 
which  the  lion*s  whelp  hath  not  ti'od.  It  is 
God  who  makes  the  ways  over  the  mountains, 
and  when  we  have  found  out  where  these  are 
w^e  are  ready  to  begin  the  work  of  crossing. 
He  would  be  a  fool  who  should  think  of  run- 
ning a  locomotive,  with  its  train  of  cars,  up  the 
steep,  rocky  sides  of  that  impassable,  huge  bar- 
rier yonder.  Mont  Cenis  is  huge,  but  it  is  not 
impassable,  and  that  makes  a  vast  difference. 

Second.  Another  thing  which  I  suppose  to 
be  necessary,  in  crossing  mountains,  is  the  right 
means   for   doing  it.      Down    in    the  valley  we 


CROSSING  MOUNTAINS.  57 

can  have  roomy  cars,  and  long  trains,  and  rush 
away  over  the  easy  track  as  if  raih'oading  was 
mere  boy's  play.  It  is  quite  another  thing  when 
we  have  mountains  to  cross.  Something  of  this 
sort  the  Apostle  Paul  seems  to  have  been  think- 
ing of  when  he  said,  "  Let  us  lay  aside  every 
weight,  and  the  sins  that  do  most  easily  beset 
us,  and  let  us  run  with  patience  the  race  that 
is  set  before  us."  Any  sort  of  train  will  do  for 
traveling  from  one  city  of  worldliness  to  another, 
w^here  all  the  roads  are  broad  and  easy,  and  we 
can  go  as  swiftly  and  as  smoothly  as  we  like; 
but  if  we  mean  to  cross  those  mountains  of 
difficulty  which  tower  up  between  us  and  heaven, 
we  must  go  about  it  in  quite  another  way. 

Thh'd.  Another  thing  necessary  in  crossing 
a  mountain  is  that  we  cj'oss  it.  This  may  seem 
a  queer  thing  to  say,  but  I  say  it  with  reason. 
If  you  are  going  over  a  mountain  you  must 
face  it,  with  all  its  difficulties,  take  the  road  uf., 
not  the  road  down.,  put  on  steam  and  go  ahead. 
The  extraordinary  way  in  which  some  people 
cross  mountains  makes  me  astonished.  They 
wall  pretend  to  be  going  over,  when  they  are 
just   sitting   by    the    roadside    whittling    sticks. 

3* 


58  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

They  will  pretend  to  be  crossing,  when  with 
their  faces  toward  the  base,  not  the  summit,  and 
will  call  those  people  silly  who  imagine  that 
there  can  be  any  difficulty  in  getting  over  a 
mountain.  Why,  they  can  do  it,  and  not  go  up 
hill  a  single  step  !  Such  as  these  are  those 
people  who  think,  or  try  to,  that  they  and  every- 
body else  will  be  saved  without  working  out 
their  salvation,  by  any  effort  at  all.  They  can 
not  imagine  what  Paul  could  be  thinking  of 
when  he  spoke  about  doing  these  things  "  with 
fear  and  trembling,"  it  is  so  easy  to  be  saved. 
Easy  it  is  to  be  lost,  and  so,  I  fear,  multitudes 
of  these  deluded  ones  may  some  day  find. 

JPourth.  The  last  thing  which  I  mention  is 
having  faith  in  the  conductor.  Our  conductor 
was  a  noisy  fellow,  but  he  knew  what  he  w\as 
about;  so  did  the  engineer,  a  headstrong  Eng- 
lishman. We  had  a  good  deal  of  faith  in  them ; 
and  when  the  high  walls  of  snow  on  either  side 
of  the  track  would  almost  press  against  the 
windows  of  the  car,  reaching  higher  than  the 
car  itself,  and  the  engine  would  puff  and  filter, 
and  seem  just  ready  to  stop,  we  said,  "  They'll 
take   us   through."      And    so    they  did.      I  am 


CROSSING  MOUNTAINS.  59 

glad  that  the  conductor  of  our  train  knew  more 
about  crossing  mountains  than  I  did,  or  ever 
shall.  And  I  am  glad  that  as  I  try  to  get  over 
these  big  mountains  between  me  and  heaven,  I 
can  confide  in  one  who  knows  the  way  I  take. 
Faith  in  him  does,  in  a  certain  sense,  "  remove 
mountains;"  that  is,  it  causes  them  to  be  insur- 
mountable obstacles  no  longer.  Mont  Cenis 
stands  where  it  has  stood  for  thousands  of  years. 
It  frowns  as  sternly;  it  thunders  and  storms  as 
ever  before.  But  men  have  mastered  it,  and  have 
compelled  it  to  be  a  highway  and  a  thorough- 
fare. Jesus  does  not  annihilate  the  difficulty 
that  is  in  the  way  of  man's  salvation.  He 
takes  us  over  it;  and  forever  and  forever,  fro-sni 
the  eternal  city  —  much  more  truly  an  "Eternal 
City"  than  this  where  I  am  writing  my  letter 
to-night  —  we  shall  look  back,  as  I  now  look 
back  on  Mont  Cenis,  and  adore,  more  and  more, 
the  grace  that  saved  us,  as  we  realize  what 
"amazing  grace"  it  was. 

Uncle  John. 


/if^^^^^l 


>wc^ 


LETTER   FIFTH. 


THE    TWO    CEMETERIES. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

SUPPOSE  that  the  youngest  of  you 
know  what  cemeteries  are.  Although 
they  are  places  where  the  dead  are 
buried,  they  are  yet  quite  often  places 
which  it  is  very  j^leasant  to  visit.  It  was  ii 
happy  thought  when  people  began  to  realize 
how  much  may  be  done  to  take  awa}^  the  gloom 
of  even  death  by  surrounding  the  homes  of  the 
dead  with  pleasant  scenes,  and  to  consider  how 
much  easier  they  may  find  it  to  feel  reconciled 
to  the  loss  of  beloved  ones,  if,  visiting  them 
where  they  lie,  they  can  see  the  green  leaves 
shining  over  them,  the  smooth  turf  roofing 
their    narrow   house,   and   sweet    flowers    near. 


THE   TWO   CEMETERIES.  6 1 

Such  cemeteries,  too,  are  interesting  places  to 
visit  for  other  reasons.  I  want  to  tell  you  of 
two,  very  widely  apart,  very  unlike  in  many 
things,  but  full  of  interest,  which  I  have  seen; 
one  in  London,  the  other  at  Rome. 

There  are  two  names  that  you  and  I  have 
learned  to  love,  one  of  them  especially;  two 
men  of  whom  we  hear,  perhaps,  as  often  as 
of  any  other,  save  the  Bible  men.  Both  had 
the  name  of  John — John  Bunyan  and  John 
Wesley.  I  can  remember,  ako,  meeting  in  my 
reading  with  the  names  of  two  localities,  once 
in  the  suburbs  of  London,  now  almost  in  one  of 
its  most  crowded  districts  —  Moorfields  and  Bun- 
hill  Fields.  In  the  time  when  John  Wesley, 
his  brother  Charles,  and  that  wonderful  preacher, 
George  Whitefield,  were  living,  Moorfields  was 
quite  like  a  country  place.  The  people  dwelling 
there  and  thereabouts  were  poor,  ignorant  and 
rude.  Whitefield  and  the  Wesleys  used  to  gather 
them  together  by  hundreds  in  the  open  air  for 
preaching,  and  although  they  were  thought  a 
dangerous  people  to  go  amongst,  and  especially 
to  preach  to  about  their  sins,  still  these  good 
men    were    not    afraid    of  them,   but  declared 


62  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS, 

faithfully    the    truth    as  it    is    in   Jesus,    so    that 
numbers  of  them   were  converted. 

In  process  of  time  a  chapel  was  built  there, 
in  which  Charles  Wesley,  the  brother  of  John, 
and  the  author  of  a  great  many  beautiful  hymns, 
preached  for  a  long  time,  and  where  John  Wes- 
ley himself  used  to  preach  frequently.  The 
last  Sunday  which  I  spent  in  London  I  went 
in  the  morning  to  this  chapel.  I  saw  the  same 
pulpit  which  the  Wesleys  used,  and  heard  a 
man  preach  a  s^mon  in  it.  I  saw  in  the 
vestry  the  arm-chair  in  which  John  Wesley 
used  to  sit,  and  on  the  walls  of  the  chapel  were 
tablets,  or  stones  with  inscriptions,  cominemo- 
rating  the  excellences  and  the  services  of  the 
two  men  I  have  named,  with  Richard  Watson, 
Jacob  Bunting,  Robert  Newton,  and  others. 
At  the  back  of  the  chapel  and  on  one  side  is 
v^hat  the  English  people  call  a  church-yard; 
that  is,  it  is  the  enclosure  in  which  the  church 
or  the  chapel  stands,  and  where  they  bury  the 
dead.  In  the  portion  of  the  yard  that  is  back 
of  the  chapel  is  a  large  granite  monument,  very 
plain,   but  very   becoming    to   its    purpose,   on 


THE    TWO   CEMETERIES.  63 

which    is   a   long  inscription.      I  copied   a   part 
of  it  which  reads  thus: 

To    the   ATemory    of 

The   venerable  John  Wesley,  A.M. 

Late   Fello-w  of  Lincoln  College,  Oxford; 

This  great    light   arose 

{By   the  singular   Providence   of  God') 

To   enlighten    these    realms, 

And   to    revive,    enforce   and   defend 

The  ftire   apostolic   doctrine   and  preaching   of 

The  primitive  church; 

Which   he   continued   to  do   both    by   his   writings   and 

his    lips 

For    more    than    half  a  century. 

And  to  his  inexpressible  joy. 

Not  07ily   beheld  their   influence  extended^ 

But  their  ejfficacy   ivitnessed 

In    the   hearts    and   lives   of  many   thousands. 

The  inscription  in  the  chapel  states  that 
Wesley  was  born  June  17,  17035  '^^^  died 
March  3,  1791.  He  was  thus  at  his  death 
eighty-eight  years  old.  Sixty-five  of  these  he 
had  spent  in  the  ministry  of  the  Gospel,  and 
fifty-two  of  them  as  an  itinerant  preacher.  I 
am  not  a  Methodist,  and  yet  I  love  John  Wes- 
ley's name  and  memory.  He  was  a  great  man, 
and  what  is  much  better,  a  good  man,  and  the 
crown  he  wears  in  heaven  must  be  all  sparkling 


64  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

with  starry  gems,  for  he  turned  very  many 
indeed   to   righteousness. 

Just  across  the  street  from  this  chapel  is 
what  is  called  Bunhill  Fields.  It  does  not  seem 
much  like  going  into  the  fields  to  go  there, 
any  more  than  it  does  at  Moorfields.  The 
name,  too,  seems  a  singular  one,  and  the  way 
it  originated  is  no  less  so.  It  seems  that  when 
the  present  St.  Paul's  church,  in  London,  was 
built,  being  considerably  larger  than  old  St. 
Paul's,  which  had  been  burned,  (this  was  in 
the  time  of  Charles  II.,  and  more  than  two 
hundred  years  ago),  it  had  to  be  extended  over 
what  had  been  the  old  church-yard.  Here  a 
large  number  of  persons  had  been  buried  long 
before,  and  as  no  stones  had  been  placed  over 
them  nobody  knew  who  they  were.  In  digging 
for  the  foundations  of  new  St.  Paul's  it  became 
necessary  to  disturb  these  remains.  So  they 
were  taken  up  and  carried  to  the  place  I  tell 
you  of  and  there  buried  again.  From  this  cir- 
cumstance the  place  was  called  "  Bonehill 
Fields,"  which  in  time  became  Bunhill    Fields. 

This,  as  I  told  you,  is  directly  across  the 
street  from    Wesley   Chapel.      And  here,   with 


THE   TWO   CEMETERIES.  65 

some  others  whom  I  shall  name  soon,  the 
mother  of  John  and  Charles  Wesley  is  buried. 
The  stone  now  at  her  grave  is  a  very  plain 
one.  It  has  an  inscription,  which  states  that  she 
"  was  the  daughter  of  Rev.  Samuel  Annesley, 
D.D.,  ejected  by  the  act  of  uniformity  from  the 
Rectory  of  St.  Giles,  Cripplegate,  August  34, 
1663.  She  was  the  mother  of  seventeen  chil- 
dren, of  whom  the  most  eminent  were  John 
and  Charles  Wesley;  the  former  of  whom  was, 
under  God,  the  founder  of  the  people  called 
Methodists. 

"  '  In  sure  and  steadfast  hope  to  rise, 
And   claim    her  mansion   in   the   skies, 
A  Christian  here  her  flesh  laid  down, 
The  cross  exchanging  for  a  crown.'  " 

I  said  that  the  stone  placed  over  her  is  small 
and  plain.  They  are  raising  money  to  build 
a  better  one,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  con- 
tributing a  small  sum   to  this  object. 

But  there  is  another  thing  at  Bunhill  Fields 
that  interested  me  more  than  anything  else 
there,  or  even  than  what  I  saw  at  the  other 
place  over  the  way ;  this  was  the  tomb  of  John 
Bunyan.     It  is  of  common  gray  stone;  in  form 


66  UNCLE    JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

like  a  large  stone  chest,  with  the  lid  projecting 
at  the  edges.  Upon  the  flat  top  is  a  figure, 
or  effigy,  of  Bunyan,  lying  upon  his  back,  with 
an  open  Bible  in  his  left  hand.  On  each  side 
of  the  monument  is  a  figure  of  Christian,  as 
represented  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  In  one 
of  them  he  is  just  setting  out  from  the  City 
of  Destruction,  carrying  the  heavy  burden  of 
his  sins;  in  the  other  he  has  arrived  at  the 
Cross,  and  as  he  looks  up  at  it  the  burden 
drops  from  his  back  and  rolls  away  into  an 
open  sepulchre,  never  to  be  seen  again.  At 
one  end  of  the  monument  is  this  simple  inscrip- 
tion: 

John  Bunyan, 

Author  of  "Pilgrim's  Progress," 

Died  i6S8,  aged  60. 

That  is  all,  and  it  is  quite  enough.  At  the 
otlier  end  one  reads  that  this  monument  was 
"  restored  by  public  subscription  under  the  presi- 
dency of  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of 
Shaftesbury,  May,  1863."  This  means  that  the 
stone  had  become  defaced,  and  the  inscription 
scarcely  legible,  on  account  of  its   age,  and   that 


THE   TWO   CEMETERIES.  67 

the  figures  and  words   were  cut  over  again,  so 
tliat  they  could  be  plainly  seen. 

There  was  also  another  name  at  Bunhill 
Fields  which  the  boys  and  girls  do  not  know 
so  well  as  they  do  that  of  Bunyan,  although 
a  book  written  by  the  man  who  once  bore  it 
is  almost  as  popular  with  them  —  with  some 
of  them  I  am  afraid  more  popular  —  than  even 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress."  We  had  to  look  for  the 
stone  on  which  this  name  is  chiseled  for  a 
good  while,  it  is  so  small  and  low,  but  at  last 
we  found  it.     This  is  what  we  read: 

Daniel  Defoe, 

(^Author  of 

Robinson   Crusoe), 

Who  died  April  24,    1781, 

In  his  ^oih  year. 

I  do  not  think  that  Daniel  Defoe  was  as 
great  a  man  as  John  Bunyan,  or  as  good  a 
man,  but  I  was  glad  to  see  where  his  ashes 
lie,  although  sorry  that  a  better  stone  does  not 
mark  the  spot. 

Bunhill  Fields,  I  am  compelled  to  say,  is  not 
a  pleasant  spot.  I  spoke  at  the  beginning  of 
cemeteries  as  now  being  made   very   delightful. 


68  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

This  of  which  I  am  speaking  is  not  one  of 
those.  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  tree  anywhere 
within  the  enclosure.  I  saw  no  green  grass, 
nor  a  flower,  nor  anything  to  remind  of  life. 
Everything  spoke  only  of  death,  and  in  its  most 
naked  and  most  forbidding  form.  All  'the 
stones  were  of  the  rough  gray  kind,  much 
blackened  by  the  smoke  and  the  rains,  while 
numbers  of  the  inscriptions  were  so  worn  that 
it  was  impossible  to  read  them.  Qiiite  differ- 
ent, in  these  respects,  is  the  cemetery  which  I 
have  visited  to-day,  and  which  is  the  other  one 
of  the  two  I  proposed  to  write  you  about.  It 
is  li€re  at  Rome,  fifteen  hundred  miles  away 
from.  London;  here,  in  Catholic  Rome,  but  a 
Protestant  cemetery. 

Shall  I  tell  you  when  I  determined  that  if  I 
came  to  Rome  I  would  visit  this  cemetery.'' 
It  was  some  months  ago,  after  reading  in  a 
certain  book  that,  according  to  the  most  reliable 
accounts,  it  was  here  that  the  apostte  Paul  was 
beheaded.  Perhaps  you  know  that  some  dis- 
tance away  from  Rome,  and  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Tiber,  is  Ostia,  which  used  to  be  quite  an 
important    place,    though    now    veiy    far   from 


THE    TWO    CEMETERIES.  69 

being  so.  It  was  the  fort  of  Rome,  where  all 
the  vessels  came,  where  the  grahi  was  brought 
from  foreign  countries  to  supply  the  great  city, 
and  where  the  ships  of  war,  with  their  soldiers 
and  sailors  on  board,  would  sail  in  and  out. 
There  was  a  road,  one  of  the  noble  Roman 
roads,  made  from  the  city  to  Ostia,  a  distance 
of  fifteen  miles.  The  road  passes  through  one 
of  the  city  gates,  in  the  wall  now  so  old  and 
moss-covered,  and  runs  near  the  river  on  to 
where  the  old  port  used  to  be.  Once  it  was 
thronged  as  it  now  never  is  with  marching 
soldiers,  with  sailors  on  leave  from  their  ships, 
with  teams  bringing  grain,  with  groups  of 
horsemen,  perhaps  a  Roman  knight  and  his 
escort;  with  a  busy  multitude,  and  at  all  hours 
of  the  day. 

The  road  I  have  described  runs  along  the  river 
for  quite  a  distance  before  it  passes  througli  the 
gate  and  so  begins  to  leave  the  city.  For  much 
of  the  way,  too,  it  is  through  open  tracts,  or 
where  the  houses  are  very  sparse  and  the  trees 
are  growing.  Near  the  gate  in  the  wall  tliere 
is  a  tall  pyramid,  built  of  square  stone.  The 
wall  runs  up  to   it   on   each    side,  and   is   built 


7©  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

against  it,  so  that  the  pyramid  seems  to  make 
part  of  the  wall,  although  much  higher.  It  was 
erected  about  the  commencement  of  the  Chris- 
tian era,  and  so  is  almost  nineteen  hundred 
years  old.  It  was  built  as  the  monument  of 
Caius  Cestius,  a  Roman,  and  one  of  the  mag- 
istrates of  the  city.  Now  the  book  I  was 
reading,  "  Conybeare  and  Howson's  Life  of  St. 
Paul,"  says  that  the  most  probable  account  of 
the  death  of  the  great  apostle  is,  that  he  was 
led  out  towards  the  outer  wall  of  the  city  along 
the  Ostian  road,  and  near  the  base  of  that  pyra- 
mid was  beheaded.  At  the  same  time  that  I 
went  to  the  place  I  am  describing,  I  passed 
still  farther  on  till  almost  a  mile  beyond  the  city 
wall,  and  there  I  saw  and  entered  a  magnificent 
church,  under  the  altar  of  which  they  say  that 
both  Paul  and  Timothy  are  buried.  I  am  sure 
I  do  not  know  whether  they  are  so  or  not.  But 
it  was  thrilling  to  be  there  and  think  even  that 
they  ?night  be. 

Now  it  is  close  by  that  pyramid  of  Cestius,  on 
the  side  of  the  wall  towards  the  city,  and  close 
up  to  it,  that  the  Protestant  cemetery  is.  It  is  not 
lai"ge,  neither  is    it   laid    out    so    handsomely  as 


THE   TWO   CEMETERIES. 


71 


a  great  many  in  our  American  cities;  but  it  is 
a  quiet,  pleasant  spot,  and  men  are  employed 
to  keep  the  walks  neat,  the  hedges  nicely 
trimmed,  and  to  see  that  no  one  defaces  or  in- 
jures any  thing  there.  The  persons  buried  there 
are  mostly  those  who  came  to  Rome,  as  I  have, 
to  visit  it,  or  perhaps  to  live  for  a  few  years,  and 
were  taken  sick  and  died.  They  v^ere,  I  noticed, 
from  America,  from  England,  Ireland,  Scotland, 
Holland,  Germany,  and  other  countries.  Among 
them  is  the  wife  of  Hon.  Lewis  Cass,  who  used 
to  live  in  Michigan,  in  his  life  an  eminent  states- 
man. She  was  a  daughter  of  Hon.  John  A. 
King,  another  eminent  American.  On  one  mon- 
ument I  read,  "  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep; "  on 
another,  "  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but 
joy  Cometh  in  the  morning;"  on  another,  that 
of  a  young  girl  of  fourteen,  "  Because  I  live  ye 
shall  live  also."  Very  unlike  these  is  that  upon 
the  stone  that  marks  the  grave  of  John  Ke-ats, 
who  wrote,  while  he  lived,  such  beautiful  poetry, 
but  died  so  unhappily : 

"This  grave  contains  all  that  was  mortal  of  a 
young  English  poet,  who,  on  his  death-bed,  in  the 
bitterness   of  his    heart   at   the    malicious   power   of 


72  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

his  enemies,  desired  these  words  to  be  written  upon 
his  tombstone  :  'Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ 
in  water.'     Feb.  24,  1S21." 

How  much  better  it  is  to  be  a  Christian,  and 
"sleep"  as  one  of  the  Lord's  "beloved,"  than  to 
be  the  best  poet  that  ever  lived,  without  this! 
Shelley,  another  English  poet,  is  also  buried 
here. 

It  would  be  nice  to  know  whether  this  is  really 
the  place  where  Paul  was  beheaded.  I  almost 
feel  sure  that  it  was.  Returning  to  the  city  I 
passed  over  ground  where  perhaps  his  own  feet 
trod.  He  may  have  looked  back  upon  the  tow- 
ers and  dwellings  of  the  city,  and  seen  them 
much  as  I  saw  them,  perhaps  with  a  sorrow 
like  that  of  Jesus  as  he  wept  over  Jerusalem. 
I  know  that  he  went  bravely,  not  afraid  to  die; 
for  had  he  not  written,  perhaps  only  a  day  or 
two  before,  "  I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered,  and 
the  time  of  my  departure  is  at  hand.  I  have 
fought  a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course, 
I  have  kept  the  faith;  henceforth  there  is  laid 
up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteousness,  which  the 
Lord,  the  righteous  Judge,  shall  give  me;  and 
not  to  me  only,  but  to  all   them  who  love  his 


TITE    TWO   CEMETERIES. 


73 


appearing."  Paul,  Bunyan,  the  Wesleys,  and 
many  a  one  besides,  are  wearing  that  crown. 
Is  there  one  preparing  for  each  of  us,  dear  young 
friends.?  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so,  is  the 
prayer  of 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   SIXTH. 


CHRISTMAS    IN    PARIS. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

ERHAPS  I  had  better  not  tell  you 
the  name  of  the  person  who  wrote 
the  jingle  which  I  shall  ask  the  editor 
at  home  to  print  in  this  letter.  But  as 
he  uses  several  French  words,  I  must  tell  you 
what  they  mean.  Gargon  (pronounce  the  g  like 
an  s)  is  "waiter;"  jille  is  "maid-servant;"  Ma- 
dame is  the  title  usually  given  to  the  lady  in 
charge  of  a  French  lodging-house;  recherche  is 
"stylish;"  hon  jour  is  "Good-day,"  or  "Good- 
morning;"  Eh  blen  is  "well;"  Monsieur^  oi 
course,  is  "  Sir,"  and  is  often  used  in  addressing  a 
gentleman,  instead  of  his  name;  a  Chicago  is  "at 
Chicago;"  a  Pans  (pronounced  Paree^)  at  Paris. 


CimiSTMAS  IN-  PARIS. 


IS 


You  know,  I  suppose,  that  cai'te  dc  visite  is  a 
gentleman's  or  lady's  "  card,"  such  as  they  use  in 
making  calls.  You  may  now  read  what  this 
"poet"  —  a  very  poor  one  I  think  —  tells  about 
his  Christmas  in  Paris,  and  then  I  will  tell  you 
about  mine. 


On  the  morning  of  Christmas,  as  musing  I  sat 

In  mj  lodgings  at  Paris,  upon  the  third  flat, 

And  wondering  if  Christmas  would  be  as  of  jore, 

As  bright  and  as  glad  —  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

Assured  'twas  \h.&  gar<;on.,  ihejille,  or  Madame, 

I  opened,  and  there  stood  a  spruce  little  man. 

From  his  toe  to  his  top  he  was  perfect  in  style; 

Not  a  stain  on  his  boot,  not  a  scratch  on  his  tilej 

Not  a  wrinkle  to  mar  the  superlative  set 

Of  waistcoat  or  coat,  or  recherche  cravat. 

One  hand  wore  its  glove,  the  other  was  bare, 

That  the  public  might  notice  the  diamond  rings  there. 

This  flourished  a  cane,  thai  was  held  ready 

To  do  the  polite  to  a  gent  or  a  lady. 

One  fault  in  his  physique  I  could  not  but  see; 

A  fop  should  be  slender,  but  not  so  was  he. 

In  fact,  though  the  word  would  perhaps  have  appalled 

him, 
His  rigging  apart,  I  should  surely  have  called  hhn 
Some  rubicund  Dutchman  abroad  for  his  beer, 
Or  Old  Christmas,  himself,  thus  earlj^  astir. 

Qiiite  crushed  by  such  elegance,  while  I  stood  mule, 
'■^  Bon  jour  "  said  my  friend  with  a  killing  salute; 


76 


UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS  TRA  VELS. 


'''■Monsieur,  I  crave  pardon,  so  early  a  guest, 

But  allow  me  to  wish  '  Merry  Christmas,'  at  least.** 

Recalled  to  mj  senses,  I  hastened  to  say, 

"  Walk  in,  sir,  walk  in,  and  be  seated  I  pray; 

On  the  sofa,  I  beg,  and  kindly,  dear  sir, 

Receive  my  best  thanks  for  the  grace  you  confer.** 

Qj-iite  briskly  and  gaily  he  entered,  and  took 

The  seat  I  had  offered,  then  airily  spoke. 

While  under  the  smirk  on  his  shining,  fat  face, 

A  something  familiar  I  now  seemed  to  trace: 

'*  Monsieur  does  not  know  me,  I  plainly  can  see; 

My  carte  de  visite,  if  I  make  not  too  free." 

On  the  finest  card-paper,  and  daintily  set 

In  gilt  edges  and  flourishes  bright  and  complete. 

Bewildered  and  wondering,  half  out  of  my  head — 

You  will  scarcelj^  believe  it,  'twas  this  that  I  read  : 

"  Sauta  Claus,  chez  lut,  h  la  Rue  Rivoli 

Nuinero  cinquatite-neuf ;  venez  a  dinde  rotie.^^* 

"You  see,  Monsieur,  we're  not  strangers  at  all, 

Nor  is  this  the  first  time  I  have  made  you  a  call. 

It  should  not  make  us  strangers,  that  this  side  the  sea 

We  meet,  not  a  Chicago,  but  instead  a  Paris.^ 

"  Dear  friend,  pray  excuse  me,"  I  stammering  began, 

"But  in   truth,  I — I — ."     "Yes,"  said  the  gay   little 

man, 
"  I  know  what  you  mean;  you  think  strange 
Of  this  which  to  you  seems  a  marvelous  change. 
You   ask,    'Where   are  the  reindeers,  the  sleigh,  and 

the  driver?' 
And  it  seems  like  the  arts  of  some  conjuring  contriver, 
Santa  Claus  turned  a  Frenchman  in  broadcloth  and 

rings, 

*  "  Santa  Claus,  at  home,  at  the  street  Rivoli, 
Number  fifty-nine;   come  to  roast  turkey." 


CHRISTMAS  IN  PARIS.  *J>f 

And  fine  in  himself,  not  dispensing  fine  things." 

"It    is    true — I  confess — ."    I   was    stammering   once 

more, 
When  "  Pardon,  Monsieur,"  he  burst  in  as  before, 
"  No  apology  needed,  and  indeed  on  my  side 
Explanation  is  due,  and  must  not  be  denied. 
For  all  that  you've  known  of  your  friend,  Santa  Claus, 
One  thing  you'll  now  learn,  and  in  this  find  the  cause 
Of  what  lias  surprised  you  ;  my  journeys   so  wide, 
Round  the  world,  make  it  needful  that  I  should  pro- 
vide 
Against  much  misconstruction,  by  becoming,  you  see, 
All  things  to  all  men,  so  far  as  may  be. 
So  in  France  I'm  a  Frenchman,  in  Germany  Dutch, 
In  England  John  Bullish,  though  not  overmuch. 
In  Spain  I'm  a  Spaniard,  in  Mexico  too; 
And  in  short,  when  in  Rome  do  as  all  Romans  do.'* 
"  I  see,  yes,  I  see,"  I  replied  much  relieved; 
"  And  still,  in  America,  much  as  you've  lived. 
You  will  pardon  my  saying  it  seems  rather  strange 
That  when  you  are  with  us,  we  see  no  such  change." 
"And  perhaps  you  will  tell  me,"  he  said  in  reply, 
"  Since  the  whole  world  is  there  even  more  than  am  I, 
What  nation  you  are,  and  what  one  must  become. 
To  make  himself  like  you,  and  be  quite  at  home. 
Is  it  Irish,  Norwegian,  or  Chinese,  or  what.'' 
For  indeed  it's  a  puzzle  to  tell  what  you're  not. 
So  I  think  it  must  answer,  since  all  will  do  so, 
To  be  just  myself,  as  I  come  and  I  go." 
"  And  what  could  be  better,  dear  friend.?"  I  replied; 
"  Be  Santa  Claus  still,  our  delight  and  our  pride. 
For  myself,   scarcely  aught   gives   me   homesickness 

more, 
Than  to  think  I'll  not  hear,  as  of  old,  at  my  door, 


78  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

Or  above  on  the  roof  the  light  hoofs  of  the  team, 
Or  along  the  white  drifts  see  it  glide  like  a  dream." 
'''^  Mh  bien,  Monsieur^*  here  he  broke  in  again, 
"We'll  dismiss,  please,  this  quite  un-Parisian  strain, 
And  I  must  be  off,  but  before  I  shall  go. 
As  of  old  I've  been  wont  in  mj  visits  to  do, 
Let  me  leave  you  my  gift,  it  is  exquisite  stuff, 
Please  take.  Monsieur,  a  pinch  of  my  snuf.^' 

With  a  twirl  of  his  moustache,  a  whisk  of  his  cane, 
He  walked  to  the  door,  and  whistling  a  strain 
Of  the  latest  grand  opera,  went  on  his  way; 
And  left  me  to  muse  and  discuss  all  the  day, 
"  Will  the  host,  or  his  cookery,  puzzle  me  most? 
Shall  I  go  to  his  dinner,  and  taste  of  his  roast?" 

The  question  seems  to  have  remained  unan- 
swered, since  here  the  "poem"  ends;  and  so, 
much  to  my  regret,  I  can  tell  you  nothing  as  to 
how  they  cook  and  eat  roast  turkey  at  Santa 
Claus'  French  lodging-house.  Your  Christmas, 
dear  young  friends,  will  have  heen  past  some 
days  when  you  read  this,  and  still  you  will  not 
have  forgotten  how  your  roast  turkey  tasted. 
For  myself,  I  had  none;  neither  did  anybody 
here  in  the  house  where  I  am  living  just  now 
wish  any  other  body  a  "  Merry  Christmas."  It 
is  not  the  custom  in  Paris,  although  they  do 
have    the    "  Happy    New   Year."       They   give 


CHRISTMAS  IN  PARIS.  79 

Christmas  presents,  too,  sometimes,  but  gen- 
erally I  think  reserve  those  for  New  Year's; 
at  which  time,  possibly,  Santa  Claus  may  be 
more  like  himself,  and  give  his  friends,  w4ien  he 
comes  to  see  them,  something  better  than  a 
pinch  of  snuff! 

Some  things  about  Christmas,  here  in  Paris, 
I  must  tell  you.  It  was  a  good  deal  more,  in 
one  respect,  like  Sunday,  than  Sunday  itself 
ever  is ;  that  is  to  say,  the  stores  and  other 
places  of  business  were  closed,  as  very  few  of 
them  are  upon  the  Sabbath.  The  French  peo- 
ple—  and  indeed  the  people  generally  upon  the 
continent  of  Europe,  that  is  in  other  portions 
besides  Great  Britain —  know  very  little  about 
the  Sabbath,  except  as  a  day  to  go  to  church  in, 
if  they  like,  and  to  rest  from  labor  and  enjoy 
pleasure  excursions,  if  they  choose  so  to  do. 
An  American,  English,  or  Scottish  Sabbath  one 
never  finds  south  of  the  English  channel.  But 
certain  other  days  in  the  year  are  honored  as  the 
Sabbath  is  not.  Of  these  there  are  four,  Christ- 
mas, All-Saints'  Day,  Easter  and  Whitsuntide. 
At  some  of  the  churches  in  Paris,  mass,  the 
most  important  and  solemn  of  all  the  Catholic 


bo  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS  TRA  VELS. 

services,  was  being  celebrated  all  Christmas  day, 
from  early  in  the  morning  till  late  at  evening. 
It  was  so  at  the  Madeleine,  and  as  we  were 
there  at  the  eleven  o'clock  mass,  I  must  tell  you 
a  few  things  about  what  I  saw  and  heard. 

The  Madeleine  is  a  very  large  and  very  beau- 
tiful church,  dedicated  to  Mary  Magdalene, 
called  by  the  Catholics  Saint  Mary  Magdalene; 
Madeleine  being  the  French  word  for  Magda- 
lene. The  church  contains  various  pictures  and 
statues  which  I  have  not  time  now  to  describe. 
I  must  tell  you,  however,  about  the  beautiful 
marble  group,  which  one  sees  just  behind  where 
the  priests  officiate  —  what  is  called  "  the  altar." 
It  represents  Mary  Magdalene  borne  to  heaven 
by  angels,  while  at  the  corners  in  front  other 
angels  are  kneeling,  as  if  in  adoration.  The 
figures  are  very  beautiful,  but  I  am  sure  that  the 
Mai-y  Magdalene  spoken  of  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment would  have  felt  very  sorry  if  she  had 
known  that  some  time  or  other  she  would  be 
represented  in  such  a  way,  and  made  to  bear  a 
part  in  what  seems  so  much  like  idolatry. 

The  service  was  very  lengthy,  and  with  the 
exception  of  the  fine  music,  to  us  very  tedious; 


CHRISTMAS  IN  PARIS.  8 1 

for  it  was  mostly  without  meaning.  Whenever 
any  of  the  officiating  priests  prayed,  they  turned 
their  backs  to  the  people,  and  spoke  only  in 
whispers,  or  at  least  so  as  not  to  be  heard. 
When  they  read  from  the  Scripture  they  chanted^ 
or  sang  it,  in  the  Latin  language,  so  that  very 
few  persons,  if  any,  understood.  But  the  pray- 
ers and  the  reading,  such  as  they  were,  made 
but  a  small  part  of  the  ceremony,  which  con- 
sisted mostly  in  marching  about  in  procession, 
sometimes  carrying  candles,  sometimes  the  pra}'- 
er-books,  in  kneeling  down  and  rising  up,  in 
swinging  the  censers  with  the  incense  smoking, 
and  such  like  things,  which  to  us  had  not  the 
least  particle  of  ucorshi^  in  them.  Twenty-five 
different  persons  officiated,  perhaps  ten  or  twelve 
of  them  priests,  in  robes  covered  with  rich  gold 
embroidery.  The  rest  were  boys,  some  of 
whom  were  dressed  in  red  capes  and  hoods 
over  white  robes;  while  four  had  on  only  the 
white  robes,  with  blue  sashes  round  the  waist, 
hanging  down  at  the  side.  These  were  the 
incense-bearers.  Sometimes  they  would  all  be 
before  the  altar,  arranging  themselves,  now  v\ 
a  square,  now  in  a  different  kind  of  figure,  and 


82  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  IIIS    TEA  VELS. 

then  marchinof  off  to  the  ris^ht  and  left.  At 
other  times  only  portions  of  them  would  be 
present. 

A  Catholic  mass  is  what  I  never  tried  to 
understand,  and  this  one  was,  therefore,  wholly 
senseless  to  me,  whatever  it  may  have  been  to 
others.  The  singing,  only,  and  the  instrumental 
music  we  enjoyed.  The  choir,  a  very  large  one, 
and  made  up  wholly  of  men  and  boys,  was 
behind  the  altar  —  which  towered  up  very  high 
—  and  so  was  mostly  out  of  sight.  These 
singers  were  accompanied  by  a  full  orchestra, 
or  band,  of  stringed  instruments,  including  a 
harp.  At  the  other  end  of  the  church  was  an 
organ,  and  in  some  parts  of  the  service  it  would 
respond,  very  finely,  to  the  choir  and  instru- 
ments by  the  altar.  At  one  part  they  sang 
"  the  Portuguese  Hymn,"  which  in  our  country 
has  the  words,  "  The  Lord  is  our  Shepherd.''* 
It  was  the  only  thing,  from  fii*st  to  last,  which 
we  could  undei-stand,  or  which  we  in  the  least 
enjoyed.  We  came  down  the  broad,  noble  steps 
of  the  Madeleine,  even  more  thoroughly  Protest- 
ant than  when  we  went  up. 

Another  service  held   in   Paris   on  this  Christ- 


CHRISTMAS  IN  PARIS.  83 

mas  day  was  quite  a  contrast  with  the  one  I 
have  described.  The  place  was  very  different; 
—  not  a  magnificent  church  facing  down  a-  wide 
street,  with  noble  columns  in  front  and  on 
either  side,  and  adorned  within  with  frescoes, 
gilding,  painting  and  statuary,  but  a  small 
chapel,  in  the  third  story  of  a  building  on  one 
side  of  a  secluded  court,  entered  from  a  narrow 
street.  The  street  has  a  name  quite  appropri- 
ate, I  think,  considering  who  they  are  that 
meet  in  this  chapel.  It  is  the  Rue  des  Bons 
Enfants  —  Street  of  the  Good  Children;  and 
those  who  meet  at  the  place  I  now  tell  you  of 
are,  I  hope,  many  of  them,  true  children  of 
God.  They  are  the  French  Baptist  church, 
congregation  and  Sunday-school.  The  church 
numbers  about  eighty,  but  a  good  many  besides 
the  members  attend,  so  that  often  their  chapel 
is  crowded.  Last  Sabbath,  when  I  was  there, 
all  the  seats  were  filled.  To  be  sure,  the  place 
is  not  large,  holding  not  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty;  yet  to  me  it  was  far  more  "the  house  of 
God,"  and  far  nearer  to  "  the  gate  of  heaven," 
than  was  the  magnificent  Madeleine,  or  than 
the  still  more  magnificent  St.  Petex*'s,  iu  Rome, 


84  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

seemed   when  I   was  in   it  so  often  a  few  days 
ago. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Christmas  three  were 
baptized  at  the  French  chapel.  Tliey  had  a 
sermon,  then  the  baptism,  after  that  the  com- 
munion. It  was  a  good  way  to  celebrate 
Christmas,  was  it  not.^*  They  have  no  bap- 
tisteries in  this  chapel,  and  so  were  obliged  to 
use  a  large  bath-tub.  Some  one  asked  why 
they  did  not  go  to  the  river,  the  Seine,  which 
runs  through  Paris,  and  would  be  readily  reached 
from  the  chapel.  The  answer  was  that  they 
would  not  be  allowed  to  do  so.  A  generous 
gentleman,  Mr.  Carpenter,  of  Boston,  who  has 
been  spending  some  time  in  Paris,  suggested 
to  them,  on  the  occasion  of  a  former  baptism, 
that  they  should  go  to  the  river,  and  offered  to 
meet  the  expense  of  carriages  for  that  purpose. 
He  was  told  that  while  the  Government  permit 
tlie  Baptist,  and  other  Protestant  congregations, 
to  hold  meetings,  if  they  do  it  quietly,  they 
will  not  suffer  them  to  do  any  thing  that  would 
attract  public  attention  like  a  baptism  in  the 
river.  This  reminds  me  to  tell  you  that  the 
Baptists  in  Paris  and  in  other  parts   of  France 


CHRISTMAS  IN  PARIS.  55 

have  formerly  suffered  much  annoyance  and 
hindrance  from  the  jealousy  of  the  Government, 
which  is  Catholic  so  far  as  it  is  anything.  At 
present,  how^ever,  they  are  "  tolerated "  if  they 
will  not  be  too  active  and  prominent.  Even 
this  is  something ;  although  I  think  that  the 
very  idea  of  "tolerating"  men  in  worshiping 
God  according  to  their  consciences,  is  an  insult 
to  human  rights.  It  is  very  much  like  "  toler- 
ating" men  in  eating  their  dinners.  Truly,  it 
is  a  great  thing  to  permit  us  (which  is  what 
toleration  means)  to  do  what  we  have  a  perfect 
right  to  do,  anyhow! 

On  Wednesday  evening  following  Christmas 
they  had  a  Christmas  tree  for  the  Sunday-school 
children  at  the  French  chapel.  The  school  is 
not  large,  but  those  connected  with  branch 
schools  in  the  city  were  present,  and  these,  with 
the  grown  people,  filled  the  chapel  quite  full. 
The  tree  was  very  brilliant,  covered  with  little 
tapers  and  with  gay  presents,  dolls  and  other 
toys,  while  the  more  valuable  ones,  books  and 
such  like,  were  kept  out  of  sight  elsewhere 
till  the  time  came  to  distribute  them.  When 
I  went  in,  Rev.  Mr,  Lepoids,  one  of  the  pas- 


86  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

tors  of  the  church,  was  making  an  address. 
He  was  followed  by  Rev.  Mr.  Van  Meter, 
from  New  York,  and  he  by  Mr.  Dez,  the 
other  pastor.  These  addresses  were  interspersed 
with  singing.  They  sang,  too,  while  the  pres- 
ents were  being  handed  round.  One  of  the 
tunes  was  our  "  Happy  Land,"  and  it  was  like 
home  to  hear  them  singing  it.  They  very 
kindly  remembered  Uncle  John  and  Aunt 
Esther,  giv^ing  each  a  ''^Souvenir  de  Noel^' — - 
that  is.  Souvenir  of  Christmas,  "  Noel "  being 
the  word  which  the  French  use  for  the  holiday 
that  is  so  much  a  favorite  everywhere. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   SEVENTH, 

the  story  of  a  king. 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

FREQUENTLY  pass,  as  I  go  to  and 
fro,  in  this  city  of  Paris,  a  tall,  slender 
shaft  of  stone,  like  a  monument,  run- 
ning nearly  to  a  point  at  the  top,  and, 
long  as  it  is,  made  of  a  single  block,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  pedestal  upon  which  it  stands.  It 
is  covered,  from  base  to  top,  with  very  singular 
looking  characters,  called  "  hieroglyphics."  This 
is  what  they  term  an  "obelisk."  It  was  found 
some  years  ago  among  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
Egyptian  city,  called  Thebes,  and  was  brought 
from  there  about  thirty  years  since,  and  placed 
where  it  now  is,  by  Louis  Philippe,  then  the 
king  of  France.  As  one  stands  by  this  obelisk, 
looking   toward   the  river  Seine,  not  far  away, 


88  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

upon  his  right  hand  a  noble  avenue  stretches 
off,  with  rows  of  trees,  and  other  wide  avenues, 
parallel  with  it,  on  either  side,  up  to  a  large 
structure,  in  the  form  of  an  immense  arch,  which 
they  call  the  "  Arc  de  Triomphe,"  erected  by 
Napoleon  I.  Upon  the  left,  down  another 
avenue,  one  sees  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries. 
This  other  avenue  runs  through  the  Garden  of 
the  Tuileries,  which  is  very  large  and  spacious, 
and  covered  with  trees,  statuary  and  fountains. 

Upon  the  spot  where  the  obelisk  I. have  de- 
scribed stands,  a  very  sad  and  wncked  thing 
was  done  on  the  morning  of  Jan.  21,  1793.  A 
vast  crowd  was  gathered  here  on  that  morning, 
surrounding  this  spot  and  stretching  far  away, 
covering  especially  all  the  elevated  places  from 
which  a  view  of  v\'hat  was  going  forward  could 
be  had.  Nearest  to  the  central  point  I  have 
mentioned,  only  the  soldiers  were  seen.  Their 
orders  were  to  keep  back  the  crowd,  and  pre- 
vent them  from  pressing  upon  the  vacant  space 
witiiin.  Vacant,  but  not  wholly  so;  for  in  the 
centre  of  it  was  a  scaffold,  or  platform,  covered 
with  black  cloth,  upon  one  part  of  which  was 
a  strange  looking  thing,  whose   name  was  des- 


THE   STORY  OF  A  KING.  89 

tined  ere  long  to  become  ominous  and  fearful 
to  a  whole  nation  —  the  (juillotine.  Two  up- 
right pieces  were  joined  above  and  below, 
making  a  perpendicular  frame,  while  in  grooves 
prepared  in  those  upright  parts  a  sharp,  heavy 
knife  was  made  to  run,  so  that  when  raised  to 
the  top  and  then  suddenly  released,  it  would  fall 
like  lightning,  with  its  edge  upon  a  block  placed 
below.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  the  popu- 
lation of  Paris  had  assembled,  on  this  morning, 
to  witness  what  some  trembled  even  to  think 
of,  what  others  expected  with  a  fierce  joy. 

And  thousands  more  were  in  the  streets  by 
which  this  spot  —  then  called  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution,  now  the  Place  de  la  Concorde — • 
was  approached  from  the  side  opposite  to  the 
river.  In  this  direction  a  carriage  was  slowly 
drawing  near.  It  had  set  out  some  two  hours 
before  from  a  gloomy,  castle-like  building,  called 
the  Temple,  a  long  way  off,  and  so  crowded 
were  the  streets  through  which  it  passed,  that 
it  had  been  compelled  to  move  as  a  hearse 
moves  to  a  burial.  These  crowds  were  ali 
armed  men.  The  Government  had  ordered 
that   every  person    found    anywhere    along    that 


90  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

route  unarmed  should  be  at  once  arrested.  All 
who  could  have  felt  any  sympathy  for  the  person 
whom  the  carriage  I  have  mentioned  contained, 
or  any  commiseration  for  his  fate,  were  thus  shut 
up  in  their  homes,  while  only  his  ferocious  and 
implacable  enemies  were  to  be  seen,  as  now  on 
this  side,  now  on  that,  he  would  raise  his  eyes 
to  look  out  at  the  window. 

Three  persons  were  in  the  carriage  besides 
himself.  Two  of  these  were  guards;  the  other 
was  a  priest.  The  priest,  the  Abb^  Edgeworth 
de  Firmont,  had  handed  him  a  prayer-book, 
from  which  he  read  portions  of  Scripture,  espe- 
cially the  Psalms,  and  some  of  the  prayers. 
The  drums  were  beating,  the  crowd  hooting 
and  roaring,  the  cavalry  keeping  guard  before 
and  behind  tramping  noisily  —  altogether  it  was 
like  the  tumult  of  a  tempest,  and  as  it  was 
impossible  to  converse,  the  time  of  the  long, 
slow,  dreadful  ride  was  passed  in  reading  those 
inspired  words,  and  in  lifting  up  to  heaven 
requests  for  comfort  and  for  salvation  which 
we  cannot  but  hope  were  not  without  some 
true  faith  in  Jesus,  nor  unheard.  The  person 
of  whom    I   thus    speak   was  a  man  thirty-nine 


THE  STORT  OF  A  KING.  9 1 

y^ears  of  age,  with  a  mild,  kind  face,  and  a 
dignity  in  his  manner  that  proved  he  was  no 
common  man,  and  might  easily  make  one 
doubt  if  he  could  possibly  be  a  criminal,  or 
deserving  of  such  a  death  as  they  had  prepan-ed 
for  him.     At  last  the  carriage  stopped. 

"We  are  there,  unless  I  deceive  myself,"  said 
this  person  to  the  priest,  who  accompanied  him. 
The  priest  could  not  answer,  so  overcome  was 
he  by  his  emotion.  Three  men  came  forward 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and  the 
two  guards,  rising,  were  about  to  step  out, 
when  the  person  whom  they  had  thus  brought 
stopped  them,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
knee  of  the  priest  who  sat  by  his  side,  said, 
in  the  tone  of  one  accustomed  to  command: 

"  I  recommend  to  you  this  gentleman.  Take 
care  that  after  my  death  no  injury  or  insult 
be  offered  to  him.  I  charge  you  to  have  a  care 
for  this." 

One  of  the  three  men  who  had  come  to  open 
the  door  smiled  in  a  grim  way  and  said :  "  Be 
easy,  we  shall  take  care  of  him,  never  fear." 

The  occupants  of  the  carriage  then  descended. 
The  person  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  repulsing 


92  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

the  offer  of  the  three  men  to  aid  him,  removed 
his  coat,  and  took  off  his  collar,  so  as  to  leave  his 
neck  bare.  The  men  w^ere  then  about  to  bind 
him,  when  he  drew  back  proudly,  and  exclaimed, 

"What  are  you  about  to  do?" 

"To  bind  you,"  said  one  of  them. 

"  To  bind  me  ? "  he  replied.  "  I  will  never 
consent  to  that.  Do  with  me  what  you  have 
been  commanded  to  do;  but  you  shall  never 
bind  me." 

The  three  men  prepared  to  lay  hands  on  him 
and  bind  him  by  main  force,  and  he  was  prepar- 
ing to  resist  them,  when  looking  toward  the  priest, 
that  good  man  said  to  him,  as  well  as  he  could, 
in  the  midst  of  his  weeping: 

'•  Sire,  in  this  new  outrage  I  see  only  a  last 
trait  of  resemblance  between  your  majesty  and 
the  God  of  Calvary,  who  is  soon  to  be  your 
recompense." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  nothing  less  than  this  ex- 
ample could  induce  me  to  submit  to  such  an 
affront.  Do  what  you  will;  I  will  drink  the 
cup  to  its  dregs." 

They  bound  his  hands,  and  he  then  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  leaning  upon  the  arm 


THE   STORT  OF  A  KING.  93 

of  the  priest.  Having  reached  the  top,  he 
walked  by  himself  to  the  centre  of  the 
platform,  and  casting  one  look  along  the 
beautiful  avenue  to  the  palace  v^here  he  had 
lived  so  long,  he  signed  with  his  hand  for  the 
drums,  which  were  beating,  to  stop,  and  then, 
advancing  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  said: 

"Frenchmen,  you  see  your  king  here,  upon 
the  scaffold.  I  pardon  the  authors  of  my  death, 
and  I  desire  that  the  blood  you  are  about  to 
shed  may  profit  you,  and  may  never  fall  back 
upon  France!" 

Here  the  man,  named  Sartine,  who  was 
directing  this  hideous  business,  exclaimed  to 
the  executioner: 

"Do  your  work,  and  you,  drummers,  to  your 
drums!"  The  voice  of  the  king  was  drowned. 
He  attempted  no  more  words,  but  walking  to 
the  instrument  of  death  placed  his  head  upon 
the  block,  while,  as  the  axe  descended,  the 
priest  exclaimed,  "  Son  of  St.  Louis,  ascend 
to  heaven ! " 

I  have  almost  doubted,  since  I  began  this 
recital,  if  I  ought  to  tell  you  a  story  that  is  so 
very   sad   and   harrowing;    but   it   is  a  part  of 


94  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

this  world's  sorrowful  history,  and  sooner  or 
later  you  must  learn  not  only  of  this,  but 
of  a  great  many  other  things  equally  dreadful. 
The  king  I  have  been  telling  you  of  was  Louis 
Sixteenth,  the  king  of  France.  He  had  been 
a  king  nineteen  years.  There  are  many  who 
say  that  if  he  had  had  more  firmness  and 
resolution  he  might  have  saved  his  own  crown 
and  life,  and  protected  his  kingdom  from  the 
horrors  that  followed,  in  the  Reign  of  Terror. 
I  doubt  it;  but,  if  he  had  not  all  the  strength 
needful  for  such  a  charge  in  such  a  time,  he 
was  at  least  a  good  man,  and  that  was  more 
than  could  have  been  said  of  any  king  of 
France  for  many  a  long  century.  Indeed,  I 
think,  that,  as  so  often  happens,  and  as  must 
happen  unless  God  prevents  it  by  miracles,  he 
suffered  for  the  crimes  and  follies  of  those  who 
had  reigned  before  him.  The  patience  of  the 
nation  had  been  worn  out  with  the  wrongs 
done  them  by  former  kings,  and  they  did  not 
realize  that  they  were  the  guilty  ones,  not  he. 
rJesides,  it  was  a  time  when  very  bad  men  had 
gained  the  power  in  France.  They  were  am- 
bitious to  have  things  all  their  own  vv^ay.     The 


THE  STORT  OF  A  KING. 


95 


king  was  an  obstacle,  and  it  was  thus  they 
removed  him! 

For  my  part,  I  love  to  think  of  Louis  Six- 
teenth, and  of  his  wife,  Marie  Antoinette,  who 
suffered  a  like  death  only  a  few  months  later, 
and  nearly  upon  the  same  spot,  as  they  were  in 
their  youth,  and  in  the  first  days  of  their  mar- 
riage. His  father,  Louis  Fifteenth,  and  her 
mother,  Marie  Theresa,  Empress  of  Austria, 
were  then  both  living.  At  the  time  of  their 
marriage  he  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  she 
fifteen  —  a  young  couple,  but  a  happy  one. 
They  lived  in  the  beautiful  palace  of  Versailles, 
about  fifteen  miles  out  of  Paris,  and,  while 
experiencing  what  many  esteem  the  highest  and 
happiest  human  condition,  showed  by  various 
acts,  one  of  which  I  will  relate  to  you,  that  they 
could  think  of  other  things  besides  their  own 
pleasure. 

On  the  30th  of  June,  1770,  the  city  of  Paris 
gave  a  grand  entertainment  in  honor  of  young 
Louis,  the  Dauphin  (as  the  eldest  son  of  the 
king  was  always  called),  and  his  wife,  whose 
marriage  had  then  recently  taken  place.  By  a 
sad  casualty,  which  occurred  in  the  midst  of  the 


96  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

rejoicings,  several  persons  were  killed.  Learn- 
ing of  this  next  day,  Louis  wrote  this  letter  to 
the  Prefect  of  Police : 


"  Monsieur  Sartine,  I  am  filled  with  sorrow  at  the 
calamities  of  which  I  learn.  They  tell  me  that 
through  jour  failure  to  make  sure  that  public  security 
with  which  you  were  charged,  several  pei-sons  have 
fallen  victims  to  a  casualty  near  the  close  of  the  fete 
which  the  good  city  of  Paris  has  believed  itself  bound 
to  give  on  the  occasion  of  my  marriage.  Ah  !  my 
grief  is  moi-e  profound  than  I  can  express  to  you  at 
this  moment.  I  am  about  to  receive  my  annuitj-,  and 
I  send  it  to  you  at  once,  for  the  assistance  of  those 
who  suffer,  and  of  the  unhappy  relatives  of  those  who 
have  been  killed.  L.  Dauphin." 


There  were  other  similar  acts  which  showed 
his  kind  heart,  and  when,  in  1774,  upon  the 
death  of  his  father,  he  ascended  the  throne,  the 
French  people  felt  sure  that  they  had  a  good 
king.  How  he  and  his  young  queen  felt,  you 
may  infer  from  the  fact  that  on  learning  of  his 
father's  death,  he  and  Marie  Antoinette  fell  upon 
their  knees,  while  he  cried  out,  "  My  God,  pro- 
tect us.  We  are  too  young  to  reign.  I  am  a 
king  while  yet  only  twenty  years  of  age.  Wliat 
a  burden!     What  a  calamity!"     I  am  sure  that 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING. 


97 


it  was  at  least  his  wish  and  his  endeavor,  from 
that  time  till  he  died,  as  I  told  you,  on  the  scaf- 
fold in  the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  to  be  a  good 
king. 


LETTER   EIGHTH. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    KING. CONCLUDED. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

MUST  now  tell  you  of  some  things 
that  took  place  after  that  January 
morning,  in  1793.  All  the  friends  of 
the  king,  not  only,  but  the  ministers  of 
religion  as  well,  felt  themselves  in  clanger  after 
such  an  event;  the  latter,  because  the  anger  of 
the  people  had  been  excited  as  much  against  the 
priesthood  as  against  the  monarchy.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  the  priests  were  not  such  men  as  the 
mifnisters  of  religion  ought  to  be,  and  that  much 
of  what  they  taught  for  religion  was  false,  and 
calculated  to  mislead  men,  to  the  ruin  of  theii 
soids.  Some  of  them,  however,  were,  I  think,  at 
least  sincere.  Most  of  the  priests,  with  as  many 
of  the  king's  friends  as  possibly  could,    escaped 


THE   STORT  OF  A  KING.  99 

from  the  country.  Others  hid  themselves  in  out- 
of-the-way  places  in  the  city,  and  lived  as  they 
might. 

A  priest,  such  as  I  have  described,  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  very  poor,  dilapidated  dwelling  in 
what  is  called  the  Faubourg  Saint  Martin,  one  of 
the  oldest  parts  of  Paris.  In  this  mean  and  com- 
fortless place  lived  two  old  women  in  great  pov- 
erty, and  with  them  the  priest  had  found  shelter. 
One  of  these  women,  on  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  that  King  Louis  suffered,  returning  to  the 
house  said  to  her  companion,  as  she  hastily 
entered, 

"  Hide  yourself !  hide  yourself !  Though  we 
go  out  so  seldom,  we  have  still  been  watched." 

"  What  has  happened.'^"  inquired  the  other. 

The  woman  who  had  just  come  in  told  her 
that  she  had  been  followed  by  a  man  who  had 
the  appearance  of  a  spy,  and  that  he  now  stood 
without  watching  their  dwelling.  The  old  priest, 
who  sat  near  and  heard  the  conversation,  tried  to 
encourage  them,  but  finally  consented  that  they 
should  conceal  him  as  well  as  they  could,  as  he, 
not  they,  was  most  in  danger.  They  had  hardly 
so  done,  when  they  heard  the  steps  of  the  un- 


lOO         UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

known  man  upon  the  stairs.  He  stopped  at  the 
door,  and  rapped.  They  were  too  frightened  to 
make  any  reply,  and  after  waiting  a  Httle  time 
he  opened  the  door  and  entered.  He  was  a 
middle-sized  man,  with  an  air  of  melancholy, 
but  nothing  in  his  manner  that  seemed  threaten- 
ing. He  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking 
around  the  room,  and  at  last  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
the  two  old  women  who  sat  trembling  with 
fear.  At  length  he  said,  in  a  mild,  and  even 
timid  tone: 

"  I  do  not  come  here  as  an  enemy.  If  I  dis- 
turb or  alarm  you,  speak  freely,  and  I  will  retire. 
But  know  that  I  am  friendly  to  you,  and  if  there 
is  any  service  I  can  render,  let  me  know  of  it 
without  the  least  fear." 

One  of  the  women,  named  Agatha,  motioned 
him  to  take  a  seat.     He  did  so,  and  then  said : 

"  I  am  aware  that  you  have  given  asylum  to 
a  venerable  priest,  who  has  miraculously  escaped 
the  recent  massacres." 

The  other  woman,  named  Martha,  replied 
hastily,   "But,  sir,  we  have  no  priest  here  — " 

"You  should  then  take  better  care  of  what 
you  leave  around,"  said  the  stranger  smiling,  as 


THE  STORT  OF  A  KING,  lOI 

he  advanced  to  the  table  and  took  up  a  priest's 
breviary.*  "  I  do  not  think  you  understand 
Latin.  But  fear  nothing;  for  five  days  I  have 
known  of  your  necessities,  and  of  your  devotion 
to  the  venerable  man  to  w^hom  you  have  given 
a  refuge.  I  only  wish  to  serve  both  you  and 
him." 

At  these  words  the  priest  himself  came  from 
his  place  of  concealment. 

"  I  can  not  believe,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
are  one  of  our  persecutors.  What  do  you  wish 
of  me?" 

"  I  come  to  ask,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  that 
you  will  perform  a  private  mass  for  the  repose 
of  the  soul  of  one  —  of —  a  person  whose  body 
will  not,  there  is  reason  to  fear,  rest  in  conse- 
crated ground." 

It  was  one  of  the  superstitions  of  flie  time 
that  if  a  person  was  not  buried  in  ground  con- 
secrated by  the  priests  their  souls  would  suffer; 
also  that  masses,  or  prayers,  offered  for  them 
might  do  them  good.     This  was  what  this  man 

*  The  ''breviary"  is  the  Catholic  prayer-book. 
This  was  one  for  the  use  of  priests,  and  was  in  the 
Latin  language. 


I02         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

M^anted.  He  did  not  say  who  it  was  for  whom 
he  desired  the  priest  to  pray,  but  his  allusions  left 
no  doubt  that  it  was  the  king,  slaughtered,  as 
I  have  said,  of  whom  he  spoke.  After  some 
conversation  the  priest  consented  to  do  as  re- 
quested, and  the  stranger  left,  promising  to 
return  again  in  two  hours.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  he  entered  the  room  again  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  before.  In  the  meantime  the  two  aged 
women  had  made  the  necessary  preparations; 
the  priest  had  put  on  the  habiliments  custom- 
ary in  such  a  service,  and  the  four  persons  united 
in  the  ceremony,  solemn  and  impressive  at  such 
a  moment,  however  mistaken.  While  prayer 
was  being  offered  for  the  soul  of  the  departed 
one,  the  stranger  showed  great  emotion,  and 
when  the  service  was  concluded  the  priest  ap- 
proached him  and  said : 

"  My  son,  if  you  have  dipped  your  hands  in 
the  blood  of  the  martyr-king,  place  confidence 
in  my  words.  It  is  not  a  fault  incapable  of 
pardon  where  repentance  is  so  sincere  as  this 
which  you  seem  to  manifest." 

"  My  father,"  said   the   man,   much   affected, 


THE   STORY  OF  A  KING.  103 

"  no  one  is  more  innocent  than  I  of  the  blood 
shed  in  the  day  past." 

"  I  believe  you,"  replied  the  priest.  Further 
effort  to  ascertain  the  reasons  of  this  singular 
conduct  of  the  man  was  unavailing.  After  a 
little  time  more  he  left,  first  arranging  that,  in 
a  year  from  that  evening,  he  would  come  again, 
and  desiring  that  a  like  service  might  be  then 
performed.  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  reap- 
peared in  the  same  mysterious  manner  as  be- 
fore, and  at  the  same  hour  of  midnight.  They 
had  everything  in  readiness,  and  the  mass  for 
the  repose  of  the  martyr-king's  soul  was  again 
celebrated.  During  the  interval,  in  ways  which 
they  were  not  permitted  to  understand,  the  wants 
of  the  two  old  women  and  their  aged  guest  had 
been  bountifully  met.  Food,  clothing,  and  other 
necessary  things  were  found  every  day  placed  at 
their  door,  and  although  for  a  part  of  the  year 
famine  reigned  in  the  city,  they  themselves  never 
lacked. 

The  same  religious  service  continued  to  be 
celebrated  year  after  year,  at  the  same  place, 
until  Napoleon  took  possession  of  the  govern- 
ment,   and    necessity   for   such    concealment   no 


I04         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

longer  existed.  At  each  occasion  the  stranger 
reappeared,  and  in  the  meantime  the  wants  of 
the  priest  and  the  women  were  suppHed.  When 
pubUc  worship  was  re-estabhshed,  and  social  or- 
der restored,  so  that  the  priest  could  seek  out 
his  friends  and  find  other  means  of  support, 
the  mysterious  visitor  was  seen   no   more. 

But  the  same  mass,  upon  the  same  day  of 
the  year,  continued  to  be  observed,  although 
transferred  to  a  church  in  the  vicinity.  The 
bodies  of  Louis  and  Marie  Antoinette  had  been 
removed  from  the  precincts  of  the  Temple, 
where  they  were  first  buried,  and  placed  in  a 
small  cemetery  near  what  is  now  the  church 
of  the  Madeleine.  This  was  done  by  command 
of  the.  wicked  men  who  had  caused  them  to  be 
put  to  death;  and  in  order  that  nothing  might 
be  left  of  their  remains,  they  directed  that  they 
should  be  buried  in  quick-lime,  which,  it  was 
expected,  would  consume  them.  This  was 
done;  but  the  purpose  was  in  a  measure  dis- 
appointed. In  1815,  a  brother  of  Louis  Six- 
teentii  became  king,  as  Louis  Eighteenth.  By 
his  command,  search  was  made  where  the  bodies 
of  the   king   and    queen    had    been   placed,  and 


THE   STORT  OF  A  KING.  105 

enough  was  found  to  identify  them.  A  chapel 
was  erected  upon  the  spot,  and  while  so  much 
of  the  bodies  as  had  been  found  were  taken  to 
St.  Denis,  where  the  kings  of  France  are 
buried,  other  things  discovered  in  the  same 
place  were  put  in  a  stone  coffin,  or  large  chest, 
which  now  stands  in  an  open  crypt,  or  cham- 
ber, beneath  the  altar  of  the  chapel. 

We  have  visited  this  chapel,  "  La  Chapelle 
Expiatoire,"  as  it  is  called.  In  the  court,  or 
yard,  through  which  we  first  passed,  as  we 
entered,  were  the  graves  of  the  Swiss  Guards 
of  Louis  Sixteenth,  who  were  killed  in  his  de- 
fense at  the  time  when  his  palace  was  invaded 
by  the  mob.  The  chapel  itself  is  a  small, 
singular  building,  but  a  most  interesting  place 
to  visit.  On  one  side  of  the  room  where  ser- 
vice is  held  is  a  marble  group,  representing 
King  Louis  upon  his  knees,  sustained  by  an 
angel,  who  points  upward  to  heaven.  Upon 
the  other  side  is  another  group,  representing 
the  Qiieen,  also  kneeling,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  a  cross,  which  Religion,  under  the  form 
of  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  King's  sister,  holds 
out   to   her.      Every   thing  about  the   chapel  is 

5* 


I06         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

simple  and  touching.  I  felt  more  impressed 
than  in  any  other  place  which  I  have  seen  in 
Europe.  I  said  to  the  guide,  as  we  stood  look- 
ing at  the  stone  coffin,  of  which  I  spoke,  '-'-Louis 
Seize  etait  tut  hon  Jiomme*''  (Louis  Sixteenth 
was  a  good  man.) 

"  Oui^  J\Io7isiem'^^    (Yes,   sir,)    he  replied. 
"  Et  aussi  un  boji  Roi^''  (And  a  good  King, 
too.) 

"  Om,,  Monsieur ^^  (Yes,  sir),  he  said  again, 
while  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

But  who  was  the  mysterious  stranger.?  Long 
years  after  it  w^as  ascertained  that  he  was  one 
of  those  who  had  been  compelled  by  an  office 
which  he  held  to  assist  at  the  execution  of  Louis 
Sixteenth.  He  had  done  so  against  his  will, 
and  only  because  a  refusal  would  have  cost  him 
his  life.  He  had  been  touched  with  a  pity  and 
sorrow,  which  he  manifested  in  the  way  I  have 
described.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  idea 
of  praying  for  the  souls  of  the  dead  is  a  mere 
superstition;  nor  that  the  hope  of  this  man  to 
expiate  by  such  means  the  act,  however  com- 
pulsory, which  he  remembered  with  such  pain, 
was  altogether  a  mistaken  one.     You  all  know 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING.  107 

well  that  what  is  done  for  the  soul's  happiness 
hereafter  must  be  done  here^  and  by  the  soul 
itself;  also  that  the  pardon  of  sin  comes  only 
through  prayer  in  the  name  of  Jesus.  I  have, 
however,  told  you  this  story  of  a  King  that  you 
may  iiave  something  to  remind  you  what  reasons 
to  be  thankful  American  boys  and  girls  have  that 
they  live  in  a  country  where  such  things  as  I 
have  described  are  not  done;  and  also  to  be 
thankful  that  in  the  lessons  of  Christian  homes 
and  of  the  Sabbath-school,  they  are  taught  a 
ti'ue  religion,  and  not  the  fables  and  supersti- 
tions that  only  deceive. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER  NINTH. 


THE    BIRDS    IN    THE    PALACE    GARDEN. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls 

N 


1 

through 


the 


visiting  or  passing 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  the  palace 
where  the  Emperor  Napoleon  lives 
—  w^hich  I  do  almost  every  day  w^hen 
I  am  well  —  I  have  often  witnessed  a  very 
beautiful  thing.  I  must  tell  you  that  this  gar- 
den is  in  two  parts.  One  is  for  the  use  of 
those  who  live  in  the  palace,  exclusively;  no 
one  else  ever  ventures  there.  This  is  much 
smaller  than  the  other  part,  although  still  very 
large.  It  is  beautifully  laid  out  in  walks,  with 
fountains  in  different  parts,  and  has  a  great 
deal  of  shrubbery.  It  is  separated  from  the 
larger   portion    by    a    handsome  iron  fence,  ex- 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.       I09 

cept  at  the  centre,  where  there  is  a  large  iron 
gate  and  a  wide  carriage-drive,  by  which  the 
Emperor  and  Empress,  often,  as  they  return  from 
their  ride  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  in  their  car- 
riage with  four  horses  and  out-riders,  enter.  At 
this  gate  there  are  always  at  least  two  soldiers 
on  guard. 

The  other  part  of  the  garden  is  much  larger. 
It  is  almost  like  a  park,  containing  acres  of 
ground,  planted  with  trees,  with  little  grass-plats 
and  flower-beds  in  different  parts,  while  at  each 
end  is  a  magnificent  fountain  whose  water,  as 
it  falls,  makes  a  large  pond,  on  which  the  boys 
skate  and  slide  in  winter,  and  sail  their  little 
boats  in  summer.  For  into  this  part  of  the 
gardens  any  one  who  pleases  may  come  and 
stay  as  long  as  he  likes;  may  stroll  about  and 
look  at  the  statues,  of  which  there  are  a  great 
number,  or  sit  under  the  trees,  or  play  at  ball 
or  other  games  —  in  short,  it  is  a  real  pleas- 
ure-ground. On  a  pleasant  day  you  would  be 
always  sure  to  find  a  great  number  of  persons 
there,  in  bright  dresses,  many  of  tl-^em,  some 
walking,  some  sitting,  some  engaged  in  gomes 
of  different  sorts;    nurses,  with  little  babies  in 


no         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS, 

their  arms,  little  boys  and  girls,  in  regular  troops, 
soldiers,  citizens,  and  now  and  then  a  sick  man, 
like  Uncle  John,  walking  slowly  along  with  the 
help  of  his  cane.  The  women,  except  the  well- 
dressed  ladies,  almost  all  wear  a  funny  little 
white  cap,  always  as  clean  as  it  can  be,  and 
very  pretty,  especially  when  there  is  a  smiling 
happy  face  under  it. 

Now,  on  the  Emperor's  side  of  the  iron  fence, 
I  spoke  of,  and  near  the  wall,  there  is,  as  I  said, 
a  great  deal  of  shrubbery,  kept  in  the  nicest 
order  by  the  men  in  charge  of  the  garden, 
and  in  those  trees  a  great  number  of  birds 
have  their  home.  They  are  wonderfully  tame, 
and  do  not  seem  in  the  least  afraid  of  the  peo- 
ple who  are  always  thronging  about.  The 
pretty  sight  I  spoke  of,  is  to  see  these  little 
birds  fly  up,  as  they  will,  and  take  their  food 
from  the  hands  of  persons  who  seem  often  to 
come  there  almost  on  purpose  to  feed  them.  I 
have  seen  a  man  stand,  and  making  a  little  chirp- 
ing noise,  call  the  birds  to  him,  and  while  he 
held  out  to  them  a  crumb  of  bread  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  the  little  creatures  would  fly 
to  him,  catch  it  and  rush  away,  as  if  astonished 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.       Ill 

at  their  own  audacity.  Sometimes,  as  they  flut- 
tered and  circled  about  him,  he  would  throw 
the  crumbs  up  into  the  air,  and  the  swift  little 
birds  would  dart  upon  and  snatch  them  before 
they  fell  to  the  ground.  Often,  too,  I  have  seen 
the  children  feeding  them  as  they  might  a  gi'oup 
of  chickens.  I  have  stopped,  many  and  many 
a  time,  to  see  what  I  have  described,  for  it  was 
pretty  to  look  at,  and  made  me  think  of  some 
things  that  I  love  to  remember. 

I  did  not  find  out  the  name  of  these  little 
birds  in  the  palace  gardens  for  some  time;  but 
one  day  I  asked  the  landlady  of  the  hotel  where 
we  live,  what  they  are  called.  "  Aloineaux^^ 
said  she,  for  she  speaks  no  English  — "  Spar- 
rows." 

I  was  glad  when  I  heard  they  were  sparrows ; 
for  it  was  about  the  sparrows  that  I  had  been 
thinking.  I  remembered  first,  indeed,  that  pas- 
sage, which  says,  "  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air,'* 
that  is,  the  birds,  "  they  sow  not,  neither  do 
they  reap,  nor  gather  into  barns;  yet  your  Hea- 
venly Father  feedeth  them.  Are  ye  not  much 
better  than  they?"  Will  not  God  feed  you, 
and  take  care  of  you,  who  are  of  so  much  more 


112         UNCLE    JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS 

consequence  in  his  sight  ?  But  I  had  thought, 
also,  of  those  other  verses:  "Are  not  five  spar- 
rows sold  for  two  farthings  ?  And  one  of  them 
shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Fa- 
ther "  —  without  your  Father  taking  notice  of 
it.  "  But  even  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are 
numbered."  I  had  thought,  too,  of  that  place 
in  the  Psalms,  where  David  says,  one  time 
when  he  is  feeling  very  badly,  "  I  am  like  a 
sparrow  alone  upon  the  house-top."  The  spar- 
rows are  wonderfully  social  little  birds.  They 
seem  to  love  each  other's  society  very  much, 
keep  in  groups,  or  if  they  fly  off  somewhere, 
rarely  fly  alone.  I  imagined  one  of  them,  for 
some  reason,  living  alone  upon  the  top  of  the 
high  palace  yonder,  perhaps  driven  away  by 
his  mates ;  perhaps  seeking  solitude,  because 
unhappy  ;  or  perhaps  too  proud  to  associate 
with  common  birds.  How  unlike  the  merry 
little  sparrows  that  would  be;  what  a  picture 
of  loneliness  and  sadness,  as  he  sat  perched 
upon  the  ridge  of  the  splendid  palace  —  with 
a  magnificent  home,  indeed,  but  miserable  for 
all  that.  I  have  sometimes  asked  myself  if  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,   in  his    superb  palace,   and 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.      II3 

his  solitary  greatness,  ever  feels  "  like  a  sparrow 
alone  upon  the  house-top."  David,  it  seems, 
did  so. 

So  you  see  the  little  birds  set  me  thinking 
about  w^ords  in  the  dear  Bible,  and  about  God's 
precious  promises,  and  about  w^iether,  after  all, 
it  may  not  be  better  to  be  little  than  to  be  great. 
But  the  peculiarly  pleasant  thought  always  was, 
"  God  feedeth  them."  The  man  or  the  child 
who  gave  them  the  crumbs  they  loved  so  well 
did  not  think  of  it,  I  dare  say,  but  God,  all  the 
same,  was  using  them  to  feed  his  little  birds. 
God  loves  the  tiny  creatures,  and  takes  care  of 
them;  not  on  account  of  their  beauty,  for  the 
sparrow  is  not  beautiful,  but  of  a  very  plain, 
gray  color;  not  because  of  their  pretty  song,  for 
the  sparrow  cannot  sing,  but  has  only  a  kind  of 
cheerful  chirp;  not  because  men  set  any  great 
value  upon  them,  for  "  are  not  five  sparrpws 
sold  for  two  farthings.?"  It  is  because  they  are 
creatures  he  has  made,  and  so  made  that  they 
are  capable  of  being  happy,  and  it  pleases  him 
when  he  can  see  all  such  happy,  and  grieves 
him  when,  either  by  their  own  fault  or  the  fault 
of  others,  they  become  miserable. 


tI4         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS, 

So  these  little  birds  live  in  their  pretty  home 
in  perfect  safety.  No  rude  boy  ever  dares  to 
throw  a  stone  at  them;  no  sportsman  with  his 
gun  ever  comes  near  them ;  they  are  surrounded 
by  danger,  yet  always  safe;  for  God  keeps  them 
and   God   feeds  them. 

Now"  I  wish  to  show  you,  in  one  or  two  little 
stories,  very  simple,  but  very  true,  how  faithful 
our  Heavenly  Father  is  in  fulfilling  those  prom- 
ises of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  and  what 
wonderful  ways  he  chooses  in  doing  so.  About 
twelve  years  ago,  an  English  lady  came  one  day 
into  this  same  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  and  sat 
down  upon  one  of  the  many  chairs  placed  there. 
I  do  not  know  whether  the  birds  were  there 
then,  or  not;  but  I  think  it  doubtful.  While 
she  sat  resting,  she  noticed  that  a  gentleman 
with  a  little  boy  was  occupying  a  seat  very  near 
her.  The  gentleman  had  been  reading  a  little 
book  which  the  boy  now  held  in  his  hand. 
After  a  little  he  dropped  it,  and  as  he  picked 
it  up,  she  noticed  that  it  was  a  French  Testa- 
ment.    Immediately  she  said  to  the  gentleman: 

"  I  conclude  that  you  love  to  read  this  little 
book." 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE    GARDEN.      II5 

"  Yes,"  was  his  reply,  "  more  than  all  others." 
This  led  to  a  conversation,  in  which  she 
learned  that  he  had  been,  until  very  recently,  a 
colporteur  connected  with  the  French  Baptist 
mission  in  the  city,  and  that  he  was  a  member 
of  the  mission  church ;  that  through  deficiency  of 
funds,  the  society  in  America,  the  Missionary 
Union,  by  which  the  mission  was  sustained,  was 
unable  longer  to  pay  his  salary,  so  that  he  had 
now  no  support  for  his  family,  and  he  feared  that 
he  must  abandon  his  work.  He  told  her  what 
that  work  was;  visiting  every  part  of  Paris,  seek- 
ing out  opportunities  to  do  good,  to  enlighten  his 
Catholic  countrymen,  and  convince  them  how 
much  better  it  is  to  trust  in  Jesus  than  in  priests 
and  masses. 

The  lady  became  so  much  interested  that  she 
determined  to  help  him  in  this  work.  She  was 
not  a  Baptist,  but  a  very  warm-hearted  Christian, 
and  one  who  had  great  faith  in  God.  She  was 
just  on  the  point  of  returning  to  England,  and 
she  said  to  him,  as  they  parted,  that  he  must  go 
right  on  as  he  had  been  doing,  and  that  when 
she  reached  England  she  felt  sure  God  would 
enable  her  to  raise  money  to  sustain  him  at  least 


1 16  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

for  a  time.  She  had  been  a  teacher.  So  she 
interested  her  former  pupils  and  their  parents  in 
this  good  brother,  and  soon  had  secured  money 
enough  to  pay  his  expenses  for  a  month.  This 
she  sent  him,  with  directions  to  keep  on  in  his 
work  and  she  would  soon  send  him  more. 
Twelve  years  have  since  passed.  He  has  contin- 
ued in  his  beloved  service  for  Jesus  and  has 
never  lacked.  By  means  of  this  lady,  and  of 
friends  raised  up  by  her  influence  and  that  of 
others,  sufficient  money  has  always  been  pro- 
vided. They  do  not  take  pains  to  solicit  money; 
but  they  pray,  as  does  he  himself  also,  with  faith 
in  God,  that  the  "  daily  bread "  of  the  beloved 
colporteur  may  be  given :  and  it  comes,  often  in 
ways  quite  unexpected. 

This  excellent  brother  left  my  room  only  two 
or  three  hours  since,  after  a  very  delightful  visit. 
His  name  is  Mr.  Vignal.  Don't  you  think  that 
his  three  little  children  are  God's  sparrows;  and 
does  not  God  feed  them? 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER  TENTH 


THE    BIRDS    IN   THE    PALACE    GARDEN. 
CLUDED. 


con- 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 


NOTHER  story  I  will  tell  you.     Near 
^^AS    ^^^^^  great   city  of    Paris   lives   a  rich 
*"  Russian    nobleman.       His     name     is 

Prince  Demidoff".  He  is  immensely 
wealthy;  has  great  estates  and  gold  mines  in 
Russia,  and  palaces,  I  don't  know  how  many, 
in  France  and  Italy.  But  he  is  a  worldly, 
selfish  man,  and  seems  to  care  for  nothing  but 
his  dogs  and  monkeys.  He  has  a  nephew, 
Count  Demidoff,  who  is  his  heir.  The  Count 
is  also  very  rich,  and  a  few  years  ago  was  as 
worldly  as  his  uncle,  and  a  wild  and  wicked 
young  man.     But  see  by  what  wonderful  means 


Il8  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

God  led  him  to  think  of  and  prefer  the  "  more 
excellent  way." 

The  nobility  of  Russia,  like  everybody  else 
there,  must  always  do  just  as  the  Emperor  says. 
Over  the  higher  nobles,  especially,  he  seems  to 
keep  a  very  strict  watch,  even  to  choosing  wives 
for  them  when  they  marry,  and  they  must  al- 
ways marry  the  one  he  selects.  A  few  years  ago 
the  young  Count  Demidoff  was  called  home  to 
St.  Petersburg,  from  Paris,  to  marry  a  lady  whom 
the  Emperor  had  chosen  for  him.  He  had  never 
seen  her,  and  of  course  made  her  his  wife  simply 
because  the  Emperor  commanded  him  to  do  so. 
But  she  was  both  beautiful  and  good,  and  very 
soon  he  loved  her  so  much  that  when,  at  the 
end  of  a  year,  she  died,  his  grief  made  him 
almost  insane. 

While  in  this  sad  state  of  mind  he  came  again 
to  Paris,  and  made  the  acquaintance  here  of  an 
English  nobleman  named  Lord  Radstock,  a 
warm-hearted  Christian  who,  though  a  noble- 
man, and  wealthy,  devotes  his  life  to  doing 
good,  and  to  leading  men  to  the  Saviour.  We 
heard  him  preach,  a  few  Sabbaths  since,  a  plain, 
good,  sweet  gospel  sermon.     By  Lord  Radstock's 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.     II9 

means  Count  Dcmidoff  was  made  to  know  Jesus. 
He  found  comfort  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and 
now  he  lives  to  do  good. 

One  of  the  Count's  benevolent  works  I  must 
tell  you  of.  He  has  built,  in  one  part  of  the 
city  of  Paris,  a  very  large  building,  in  which 
work  is  provided  for  poor,  unemployed  women, 
to  the  number  of  five  hundred,  with  or  without 
families.  They  come  there  every  day;  if  they 
have  children,  they  bring  these  with  them;  if 
any  of  the  children  are  very  small,  they  are  put 
in  charge  of  persons  who  take  care  of  them  while 
the  mothers  are  at  work.  The  larger  ones  go 
into  a  school  in  the  same  building,  where  they 
remain  through  the  day.  At  evening,  as  the 
mother  with  her  little  flock  passes  out  of  the 
door  to  go  home,  she  receives  two  francs,  about 
forty  cents,  in  money,  and  something,  I  believe, 
also,  for  each  of  the  children. 

Are  not  these  children,  and  their  mothers  too, 
God's  sparrows;  and  is  it  not  very  wonderful 
how  he  has  provided  for  theiii }  His  providences 
towards  Count  Demidoft^  were  not  simply  that  he 
might  become   a   Christian,  but  that   he    might 


I20         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

be  made  an  instrument  to  feed  and  comfort 
God's  suffering  poor. 

And  this  leads  me  to  ask  myself  whether  God 
does  not  expect  like  things,  more  or  less,  of  all 
to  whom  he  has  given  any  means  of  usefulness 
whatever.  Are  you  and  I,  dear  children,  I 
wonder,  feeding  God's  sparrows,  in  any  w^ay.^* 
I  doubt  if  there  is  any  one  of  us  who  can  not 
do  it  at  some  time,  and  in  some  way,  though 
ever  so  simple  and  humble.  Let  me  tell  you 
something  I  was  reading  of  the  other  day. 

At  a  certain  place,  here  in  France,  there  is  a 
group  of  benevolent  institutions  called  asylums. 
They  have  received  very  appropriate  names. 
One  is  called  "The  Gospel  Family;"  another, 
"  Bethesda  ; "  another,  "  Ebenezer  ;  "  and  the 
fourth,  "  Siloam-Bethel."  The  first  is  for  young 
girls  who  have  no  one  to  take  care  of  them,  and 
who  would  run  in  the  streets  and  be  ruined, 
if  neglected.  They  have  a  home  here,  are  edu- 
cated, learn  to  work,  and  when  old  enough  are 
furnished  with  good  places.  The  second  is  for 
young  girls  who  are  sick  and  friendless,  for  such 
as  are  blind,  and  for  idiots.  The  third  is  for 
girls  and  boys  subject  to  epileptic  fits,  and  who, 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.       J 21 

like  the  others,  have  none  to  take  care  of  them. 
The  fourth  is  for  boys  affected  in  any  of  the 
ways  just  described. 

In  the  Bethesda  asylum,  not  long  ago,  there 
was  a  poor  idiot  girl,  named  Celina.  She  could 
not  speak,  and  could  be  taught  almost  nothing. 
But  she  had  a  sweety  pleasant  temper,  so  that 
everybody  loved  her,  and  she  was  made  to  com- 
prehend so  much  of  religious  truth  as  that  there 
is  a  beautiful  heaven,  where  all  are  happy.  Her 
favorite  employment  was  to  sit  by  the  bedside 
of  the  sick  and  drive  away  the  flies,  or  make 
lint  and  roll  up  bands  of  linen  for  the  infirmary. 

After  a  time  Celina  was  herself  sick  and  died 
■ — died,  as  they  said,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 
What  struck  me  most,  in  the  narrative,  were 
these  words,  by  the  person  who  relates  it.  He 
says : 

"If  the  Lord  asks  of  her,  'Celina,  what  have 
you  done  for  me.^'  Celina  can  answer,  'I  have 
driven  away  the  flies  from  the  poor  sick,  and  I 
have  made  lint  and  rolled  up  bandages.' " 

I  thought,  how  many  there  are,  with  abundant 
gifts  of  mind  of  which  poor  Celina  had  almost 
none,  and  ample  other  means  of  usefulness,  who 
6 


132  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS, 

have  never  done  even  so  much  as  she  in  feeding 
God's  sparrows. 

But  I  must  not  make  my  letter  too  long;  and 
yet  I  cannot  well  close  without  telling  you  a  little 
how  some  of  these  things  that  I  have  been  saying 
have  applied  to  Aunt  Esther  and  myself.  About 
two  months  since,  very  shortly  before  the  severe 
and  long  sickness  from  which  she  has  not  quite 
recovered,  and  which  has  left  me  feeble,  almost, 
as  a  child,  we  were  sitting  late  one  evening  by 
our  cosy  fire,  and  talking  about  the  goodness  of 
our  Heavenly  Father,  of  which  the  chapter,  I 
think,  which  we  had  just  been  reading,  reminded 
us;  how  he  had  taken  care  of  us  in  our  journey, 
and  made  everything  so  pleasant  and  easy  for  us. 
Then  we  said  to  one  another,  that  perhaps 
trouble  would  come,  sickness,  or  some  other 
trial;  but  if  it  did,  we  added,  we  would  reme7n-- 
ber  the  birds  in  the  palace  ga^'den^  for  we  had 
noticed  the  little  creatures  often,  and  thought  and 
spoken  of  the  fact  that  God  cares  for  them,  and 
much  more  for  us. 

Very  soon  after  the  sickness  came ;  first  Aunt 
Esther,  with  an  infectious  and  most  trying  dis- 
order, then  a  week  later   myself,  with   what  at 


THE  BIRDS  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN.      1 23 

first  was  thought  to  be  the  same,  but  proved  to 
be  something  else.  Even  the  servants  in  the 
hotel  were  now  afraid  to  come  near  us,  and  for 
a  time  we  were  almost  without  attendance,  none 
of  our  friends  venturing  to  visit  us.  But  God 
remembered  us,  his  poor  wounded  sparrows. 
He  sent  us  soon  the  skillful  physician  and  the 
kind  nurses,  and  blessed  what  they  did  for  us, 
so  that  though  one  of  us  has  been  so  near  the 
gate  of  death  as  to  see  its  stern  shape  and  the 
light  beyond,  we  are  both  living,  and  hope  soon 
to  be  both  well. 

During  these  tedious,  lonely  weeks,  we  have 
occasionally  said  to  one  another,  "  Remember 
the  birds  in  the  palace  garden ;"  and  they  them- 
selves have  seemed  to  say  the  same.  For,  as 
our  hotel  is  near  the  garden,  they  used  to  come 
occasionally  and  perch  upon  the  little  stone  bal- 
conies outside  our  windows,  where  we  could 
see  them  as  we  lay  in  bed,  and  would  look  in 
upon  us,  as  if  to  say,  "  God  takes  care  of  us, 
and  he  will  take  care  of  you." 

Ah,  it  is  so  good,  dear  children,  to  trust  in 
God;  to  be  able  to  come  to  him,  in  the  name 
of  Jesus,  feeling  sure  that  for  that  dear  name's 


124         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

sake  he  has  forgiven  our  sins  and  made  us  his 
sons  and  daughters.  If  you  thus  make  him 
your  own  God  and  Father,  as  you  may,  in 
your  happy  youtli,  he  will  be  your  God  and 
your  keeper  all  the  years  of  your  life  —  will 
comfort  you  when  sorrow  comes,  and  when  it 
is  death,  will  save  you  in  his  own  happy  heaven. 
Remember,  dear  children,  and  you,  older  friends, 
who  may  read  what  I  write,  remember  the  birds 
in  the  palace  garden. 

Uncle  John. 


^^^ 


LETTER  ELEVENTH. 

the  old  soldiers  and  their  general.* 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

E  went  one  day  to  visit  the  tomb  of 
Napoleon  the  First,  in  Paris.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  structures 
of  that  renowned  city.  Built  in  con- 
nection with  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  it  occupies 
a  space  equal  to  a  block  of  buildings  in  one  of 
our  cities.  The  tomb  is  on  one  side  of  a  square, 
and  the  Hotel  des  Invalides  on  the  three  others, 
thus  making  a  court-yard,  in  the  centre  of  which 
is  a  spacious  church  for  the  invalid  soldiers  to 
worship   in.      For   "  Invalides "    mearhs   invalid, 


*  I  think  it  only  fair  to  let  the  children  know  that 
this  letter  was  written  by  Aunt  Esther.  —  Unclb 
John. 


126         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

that  is,  crippled,  sick  soldiers,  or  those  infirm 
through  age;  and  by  "Hotel"  is  meant,  not 
what  you  mean  in  America  by  that  word,  but 
an  asylum  or  hospital. 

The  church  I  mentioned  has  a  stone  pavement 
made  of  little  blocks  of  colored  marble.  We 
attended  a  service  there  one  Sabbath.  There 
were  no  seats  except  by  the  altar,  the  place 
where  the  priests  officiate  —  for  this,  of  course, 
is  a  Catholic  church  —  and  the  vast  area  was 
filled  with  a  motley  group  of  soldiers,  maimed 
and  sick;  some  reclining  upon  movable  couches, 
some  sitting  on  sedan  chairs;  some  stood,  lean- 
ing upon  crutches;  some  were  armless,  some 
eyeless.  The  visitors  also  had  to  stand.  The 
arched  ceiling  is  painted  with  battle  scenes,  and 
more  than  a  hundred  torn  and  battered  flags, 
captured  from  enemies,  hung  there.  Each  of 
tliese  flags  had  been  carried  in  some  terrible 
battle;  some  of  them,  perhaps,  had  been  cap- 
tured by  some  of  these  old  soldiers,  and  dearly 
did  they  love  to  look  at  them,  as  signs  of  vic- 
tory. If  I  could  have  seen  somewhere  a  banner 
of  the  cross,  which  had  won  a  victory  over  their 
hearts,   and   caused   them   to   shout,  "All   hail. 


OLD  SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  GENERAL.      1 27 

victorious  Jesus!"  I  could  have  worshiped  there 
with  them.  As  you  are  American  boys  and 
girls,  you  may  like  to  know  that  there  were 
no  stars  and  stripes  among  those  captured  flags. 

The  organ,  during  the  service,  responded  oc- 
casionally to  a  chorus  of  drums  played  by  little 
boys.  When  we  left  the  church  these  drummer- 
boys  went  first,  then  the  invalid  soldiers,  then 
the  visitors.  Everything  was  done  in  perfect 
order,  and  the  reverential  attitude  of  the  wor- 
shipers, and  their  silent  devotion,  made  it  seem 
a  solemn  place. 

The  Hotel  des  Invalides,  as  I  told  you,  is 
the  home  of  these  soldiers.  It  was  built  for 
this  purpose  by  a  great  king,  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth, just  two  hundred  years  ago,  in  1670. 
The  buildings  and  courts,  all  together,  cover 
sixteen  acres  of  ground,  and  there  is  accom- 
modation for  jive  thousand  of  these  battered 
veterans.  I  went  through  the  long  corridors 
inside,  and  'looked  at  the  dormitories,  or  sleep- 
ing-places, which  they  occupy.  Outside  there 
is  a  balcony  for  them  to  walk  in,  and  a  garden 
of  beautiful  flowers  for  them  to  look  at,  or  to 
cultivate.      The    kitchen    and   dinmg-rooms   in- 


128         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

terested  us  very  much.  Food  is  prepared  here 
for  the  sick,  while  those  who  have  lost  a  leg, 
or  an  arm,  only,  and  are.  not  infirm,  are  supplied 
with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bottle  of  wine  each 
day,  with  a  little  money,  which  they  can  spend 
as  they  please.  I  think  the  French  know  how 
to  make  good  soldiers,  by  caring  for  them  when 
they  have  thus  become  unable  to  march  and 
fight,  or  even,  perhaps,  to  work  for  a  livelihood. 
The  tomb  of  Napoleon  the  First  is  a  grand 
structure.  I  will  tiy  to  give  you  some  idea  of 
it.  An  iron  fence  twenty  feet  high,  with  a 
soldier  at  each  of  the  gates,  guards  the  entrance. 
Passing  through  one  of  these  gates,  after  a  walk 
of  a  few  rods,  we  went  up  a  flight  of  marble 
steps,  and  were  received  by  the  attendant  at  the 
arched  door  into  a  magnificent  circle,  over  which 
rose  the  lofty  and  splendid  dome.  This  dome  is 
filled  with  gorgeously  painted  windows,  through 
which  the  light,  changed  to  all  the  hues  of 
the  rainbow,  falls  down  upon  the  place  where 
the  great  Emperor  sleeps.  This  immense  dome 
is  also  gilded  outside,  so  is  the  spire  that  rises 
from  it  to  the  height  of  more  than  three  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  ground,  and  when  the  sun 


OLD  SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  GENERAL,      1 29 

is   shining   brightly    it    is    splendid,   and    unlike 
anything  else  seen  even  in  Paris. 

We  proceeded  to  the  marble  railing  around 
the  wide  and  deep  basin  containing  the  cata- 
falque, or  tomb  proper.  This  catafalque  is  a  full 
story  below  where  we  stood.  It  is  made  of 
granite  from  the  island  of  Corsica,  where  Na- 
poleon was  born,  and  has  upon  the  top  of  it 
a  sarcophagus,  or  coffin  —  though  not  in  the 
shape  of  a  coffin,  but  of  a  large  chest,  with 
scroll-work  at  the  ends.  This  is  of  Russia  stone, 
which  resembles  mahogany.  In  this  the  Em- 
peror lies,  the  place  of  his  head  being  known 
only  by  the  bouquets  and  wreaths  of  flowers 
placed  there  by  those  who  love  his  memory. 
Near  by  is  an  altar,  at  which  service  is  per- 
formed at  five  o'clock  every  morning.  Around 
the  catafalque  are  twenty-four  statues  in  niches. 
The  floor  is  mosaic,  that  is,  made  of  blocks  of 
colored  marble.  These  are  so  shaped  and  ar- 
ranged as  to  make  twenty-four  triangles,  the 
points  of  which  meet  under  the  tomb,  while  at 
the  broad  end  or  base  of  each  stands  one  of  the 
statues.  As  I  stood  there  and  looked  upon  the 
artistic  wonders  of  the  place,  I  thought  how 
6* 


130  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRA  VELS. 

much   this  Emperor  is   still  beloved;    and  here, 
now. 


"  He    sleeps    his    last   sleep,  he    has   fought   his    last 

battle; 
No  sound  can  awake  him  to  glory  again." 


There  are  at  the  sides  of  this  great  room,  the 
centre  of  which  is  occupied  by  the  basin,  or 
crypt,  I  have  described,  several  chapels,  in  one 
of  which  are  deposited  the  remains  of  Joseph, 
in  another  of  Jerome,  in  another  of  Lucien  Bo- 
naparte. These  were  all  brothers  of  the  Empe- 
ror. Louis  Napoleon,  I  suppose,  expects  some 
day  to  occupy  one  of  them.  We  went  down  a 
flight  of  white  marble  stairs  to  the  entrance  of 
the  crypt,  or  basin,  where  the  Emperor  lies. 
This  entrance,  with  great,  bronze  doors,  is  per- 
manently closed  —  sealed  forever.  No  mortal 
mail  must  lie  beside  the  Emperor.  Two  of  the 
generals  he  loved  best.  General  Bertrand  and 
General  Duroc,  are  placed  near  the  entrance; 
but  within,  he  lies  alone  in  his  glorv.  Over  the 
entrance  the  following  sentence,  taken  from  his 
will,  is  cut  in  the  solid  stone : 


OLD  SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  GENERAL.      \n^t 

'•I  wish  that  my  ashes  may  repose  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Seine,  in  the  midst  of  the  people  I  have  loved 
so  much." 


The  wish  has  been  granted.  From  the  island 
of  St.  Helena,  where  he  died,  twenty  years  after 
his  burial  there,  he  was  brought  here,  and  this 
magnificent  tomb  assigned  him  by  the  French 
people,  to  show  how  much  they  adore  the  mem- 
ory of  Napoleon  the  First. 

There  will  be  something  more  about  this  in 
the  next  letter. 


Uncle  John. 


LETTER  TWELFTH. 


HOW  THE  GENERAL  CAME  HOME. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

HE  Emperor  Napoleon,  after  he  had 
been  defeated  at  Waterloo,  in  that 
terrible  battle  where  the  English  Duke 
of  Wellington  commanded  on  one 
side  and  he  upon  the  other,  surrendered  himself 
to  the  British,  and  by  them  was  carried  as  a 
prisoner  to  the  island  of  St.  Helena,  in  the 
Atlantic  ocean.  Here  he  arrived  on  the  15  th 
of  October,  18 15.  Five  years  after  he  died, 
having  remained  a  prisoner  during  all  that  time; 
not  shut  up  in  a  gloomy  building,  it  is  true,  as 
prisoners  generally  are,  but  still  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  island.  He  was  discontented  and  un- 
happy; not  so  great  a  man  in  suffering  as  he 


HOW  THE  GENERAL  CAME  HOME.  1 33 

was  in  acting.  Indeed,  it  is  in  suffering  that 
it  is  always  hardest  of  all  for  men  to  be  very 
great.    Jesus  was  so,  was  he  not? 

After  Napoleon  had  remained  buried  in  St. 
Helena  twenty  years,  the  French  nation  remem- 
bered what  he  had  written  in  his  will  —  that  he 
wished  to  lie  upon  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  in 
the  midst  of  the  people  whom  he  loved.  So 
they  began  to  ask,  "Is  it  not  time  for  us  to 
bring  the  great  Emperor  and  General  home?" 
Louis  Philippe  was  the  King  of  France  at  that 
time,  and  though  he  was  not  in  any  way  related 
to  the  family  of  the  Bonapartes,  still  he  was 
interested,  like  the  rest,  in  carrying  out  what 
Napoleon  had  wished  so  much.  The  island  of 
St.  Helena,  however,  belonged  to  England,  and 
the  French  could  not  go  upon  the  island  and 
take  up  the  body  and  bring  it  away  without 
permission  of  the  English  Government.  So 
King  Louis  inquired  of  the  English  if  they  were 
willing.  They  said  they  were;  they  thought  it 
was  a  thing  very  proper  to  do,  and  they  would 
be  glad  to  see  it  done. 

Accordingly,    upon  the    15th  day  of  October, 
1840,  the  same  day  of  the  year  on  which  Napo- 


134         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

leon  had  arrived  at  St.  Helena,  and  twenty 
years  after  his  burial  there,  two  splendid  French 
ships  of  war  sailed  from  Havre,  the  sea-port  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Seine,  one  hundred  miles 
from  Paris,  to  bring  the  General  and  the  Em- 
peror home.  The  ships  were  commanded  by 
Prince  de  Joinville,  a  son  of  the  King,  Louis 
Philippe.  In  three  weeks  he  arrived  at  St. 
Helena,  and,  accompanied  by  the  Governor  of 
the  island  and  other  official  persons,  he  went 
to  the  spot,  in  a  lovely  little  valley,  where  the 
temporary  tomb  of  Napoleon  had  been  made. 
They  opened  it  and  found  the  coffin  just  as  it 
had  been  placed  there,  twenty  years  before. 
There  was  first  a  coffin  of  mahogany;  in  this 
was  one  of  lead,  and  in  this  another  of  tin.  In 
the  tin  coffin  the  body  lay.  It  had  been  kept 
so  closely  shut  from  the  air  that  w4ien  they 
opened  the  coffin,  they  found  the  face  of  the 
Emperor  very  little  changed,  so  that  those  who 
had  seen  him  in  life  recognized  it  in  a  moment. 
It  was  a  solemn,  affecting  time. 

Tl\e  coffins  were  then  closed  as  before,  and 
carried  to  the  ships,  a  long  procession  accom- 
panying, in  which  nearly  all  the  people  on    the 


HOW  THE  GENERAL  CAME  HOME.  1 35 

island  joined.  The  ships  then  sailed  for  France, 
and  when  they  arrived  at  Havre  again  the  coffins 
w^ere  taken  on  board  a  smaller  ship,  one  that 
could  sail  up  the  Seine  to  Paris.  There  w^as  a 
very  splendid  catafalque  prepared  on  deck  on 
w^hich  to  put  them,  and  at  night  there  w^ere 
lights  so  placed  as  to  shine  directly  uj^on  it  and 
make  it  gleam  and  glitter  as  if  covered  with 
brilliant  stars.  All  along  the  Seine,  between 
Havre  and  Paris,  there  are  cities  and  villages. 
At  these  the  people  would  come  out  to  meet  the 
funeral  ship,  as  it  drew  near,  with  processions 
and  solemn  music.  They  built  arches  of  flow- 
ers over  the  river,  under  which  the  ship  would 
pass,  while  its  decks  were  covered  with  the  bou- 
quets and  garlands  they  placed  there. 

At  last  the  ship  reached  Paris.  There  it  was 
met  by  some  great  persons  whom  the  King  had 
sent  for  the  purpose;  the  catafiilque  was  taken 
from  it  and  carried  through  the  streets  to  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde.  Here  the  King  met  it, 
and  the  Prince  de  JoinviUe  said, 

"•  Sire,  I  present  to  you  the  body  of  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon." 


136         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

The  King  replied,  "  I  receive  it  in  the  name 
of  France." 

He  then  gave  to  Marshal  Soult,  w^ho  had 
been  one  of  the  greatest  of  Napoleon's  generals, 
the  sword  which  Napoleon  had  carried  in  lead- 
ing the  great  armies  he  commanded,  and  said 
to  him,  "  General,  I  charge  you  to  place  this 
sword  of  the  Emperor  upon  his  coffin." 

This  was  done,  and  the  procession  moved  on. 
When  it  arrived  at  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  the 
coffins  were  taken  from  the  catafalque  and  the 
funeral  car,  and  by  thirty-two  of  Napoleon's  Old 
Guard,  soldiers  who  had  marched  and  fought 
with  him  in  many  a  hard  campaign  up  to  Wa- 
terloo, carried  into  the  church.  In  the  esplan- 
ade, before  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  there  were 
not  less  than  thirty  thousand  people;  and  in  the 
porticoes  within,  surrounding  the  court  through 
which  the  procession  would  pass  to  the  tomb, 
six  thousand  more.  After  service  in  the  church, 
the  body  was  carried  to  the  tomb, .  and  placed 
as  described  in  the  last  letter.  And  this  is  how 
the  General  came  home. 

Now,  Napoleon  was,  doubtless,  a  very  great 
man.     I    shall   not  say  that  the  honors  paid    to 


HOW  THE  GENERAL   CAME  HOME.  1 37 

his  memory  are  more  than  he  deserved,  for  I 
think  that  nations  ought  to  honor  their  rulers, 
and  while  Napoleon  did  very  wrong  in  bringing 
on  so  many  wars,  and  was  influenced  in  what 
he  did  far  too  much  by  his  love  of  power  and 
of  praise,  still  he  was  th-e  means  of  great  good 
to  France.  I  am  glad,  too,  that  he  lies  now 
where  he  wished  to  lie  —  at  home,  not  in  that 
lonely  island;  among  the  people  he  loved,  not 
in  the  soil  of  the  stranger  and  the  enemy. 

But  I  cannot  help  thinking  how  differently 
Jesus  —  who  Napoleon  himself  said  was  far 
greater  than  he,  or  than  Caesar,  or  than  Alex- 
ander, or  any  of  the  great  men  of  this  world 
—  desires  to  have  us  show  our  love,  from  that 
way  in  which  the  French  show  their  love  for 
their  Emperor.  He  does  not  require  us  to  build 
monuments  to  him.  It  is  true  he  needs  no  tomb, 
for  his  body  rose  from  the  tomb  where  it  was 
laid  and  ascended,  glorified,  into  heaven.  But 
neither  does  he  require  any  thing  of  the  kind. 
You  remember,  do  you  not,  how  he  said  we 
must  show  our  love  to  him?  —  by  loving  each 
other,  and  being  kind  to  the  poor  and  the  per- 
ishing—  by  seeking,  as  he  did,  to  save  the  lost. 


138         UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

At  the  same  time,  there  was  something  in  the 
sight  of  those  old  soldiers  at  the  Invalides  which 
made  me  think  of  what  every  Christian  should 
be.  If  we  only  loved  our  Great  Captain  as  they 
loved  theirs!  How  proud  and  glad  they  felt  to 
be  known  as  his  soldiers!  What  a  sacred,  happy 
place  to  them  was  the  spot  where  they  knew  his 
body  is  laid !  Though  so  poor,  so  old,  so  feeble, 
so  maimed,  some  of  them,  they  would  not  have 
changed  places  with  the  young  Prince  Imperial, 
son  of  the  Emperor,  over  at  the  Tuileries;  it 
was  better  to  have  been  a  soldier  of  the  Great 
Napoleon,  than  to  be  young,  and  rich,  and  the 
heir  to  a  throne.  Ah,  it  is  much  more  to  be  a 
Christian ! 

Then,  oici-  General  is  coming  home  again 
some  day.  Not  as  Napoleon  came;  — more 
gloriously  even  than  they  brought  him;  and 
not  sleeping  in  a  coffin  unmindful  of  all  that  is 
done  in  his  honor.  He  will  come  as  the  Living 
Redeemer;  come  with  the  angels  attending,  and 
not  riding  in  ships,  or  in  funeral  cars,  but  in 
chariots  of  salvation.  He  will  come,  not  to  be 
housed  in  a  tomb,  as  Napoleon  is,  however  gor- 
geously, but  to  open  the  tombs  with    the  word 


HOW  THE  GENERAL  CAME  HOME.  1 39 

of  his  mouth,  and  to  call  up  the  sleeping  saints 
to  meet  their  Lord  in  the  air. 

Oh,  let  me  be  a  soldier  of  Jesus.  Let  me  be 
one  of  those  who  shall  welcome  him  when  he 
comes  again  "  to  be  admired  in  all  them  that 
believe,"  to  take  unto  him  his  kingdom  in  final 
triumph,  and  reign  forever  and  ever. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   THIRTEENTH. 

the  story  of  a  castle. 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

OME  time  ago  I  told  you  "  the  story  of 
a  king."  Would  you  like  to  read, 
now,  '•  the  story  of  a  castle  ?"  Please, 
then,  to  take  your  maps  and  find  near 
the  southern  coast  of  England  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
Imagine  yourselves,  next,  just  about  in  the  mid- 
dle of  this  beautiful  island,  and  that  you  have 
climbed  the  high  hill  vvdiich  you  saw  rising  from 
the  midst  of  a  lovely  valley  as  you  rode  over  from 
Ryde  yonder,  opposite  Portsmouth,  with  Aunt 
Esther  and  me.  You  have  not  only  climbed  the 
hill,  but  have  now  clambered  also  to  the  top 
of  a  gray  old  wall,  very  high  and  very  ancient, 
from  which  you  are  looking  out  upon  one  of  the 
most  charming  landscapes,  I  will  venture  to  say, 


THE   STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  14I 

you  ever  saw.  It  is  not  grand,  like  some  of  our 
American  ones,  except  in  the  wide  sweep  of 
country  which  the  eye  takes  in,  and  which,  to 
your  right  and  left,  as  you  stand  looking  north- 
ward, reaches  from  sea  to  sea.  Just  at  your  feet 
is  a  small  village,  with  its  ancient  church  hun- 
dreds of  years  old;  a  little  farther  away  is 
another  and  larger  village;  both  are  embowered 
in  fine  old  trees,  while  each  has  its  small  stream 
which  winds  away  through  the  valley,  a  gleam 
of  silver  amid  the  green  fields.  In  the  still 
farther  distance,  on  every  side,  you  see  the  rich 
lands  of  the  "  Garden  Isle,"  as  they  appropriately 
call  it;  the  gently  swelling  hills  crowned  with 
trees,  the  green  slopes  and  valleys,  the  cottages 
of  the  poor  and  the  mansions  of  the  rich;  while 
far  away  yonder  are  the  towers  of  a  queen's  pal- 
ace —  Osborne  House,  one  of  the  favorite  homes 
of  Qiieen  Victoria.  Where  could  you  find  a 
lovelier  scene.''  This  old  castle  to  whose  battle- 
ments we  have  climbed  is  Carisbrooke  Castle; 
the  nearer  and  smaller  of  the  two  villages  down 
there  is  the  village  of  Carisbrooke,  and  the  one 
farther  away  is  Newport,  the  capital  of  the  island. 
It   is   this   castle,   mostly    in   ruins    now,   whose 


142         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

''  stoiy,"    at  least  some  part  of  it,  I  wish  to  tell 
you. 

I  suppose  that  if  we  were  to  "  begin  at  the  be- 
ginning" of  our  story  we  should  have  to  go  back 
almost  to  the  very  time,  so  long  ago,  when  our 
Saviour  lived  upon  the  earth.  Before  that  time, 
even,  more  than  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy 
years  since,  as  nearly  as  can  be  made  out,  the 
people  who  first  inhabited  this  island  found  it 
lying  here  like  a  gem  in  the  sea.  They  came 
over  to  it,  either  from  Britain  —  as  it  then  was, 
England  now  —  or  from  the  coast  of  France,  to 
the  southward  yonder.  They  were  not  exactly 
the  same  sort  of  people  that  live  on  the  island 
now,  but  diflfered  from  them  very  nearly  the 
same  as  a  Welshman  diflfers  from  an  English- 
man. One  of  the  earliest  places  they  occupied 
was  this  little  village,  here  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Here  they  built  their  small  huts  with  roofs 
shaped  like  a  sugar-loaf,  and  lived  no  doubt  by 
fishing  in  this  stream  below  which  seems  then  to 
have  been  quite  a  large  river;  and  because  their 
village  was  thus  built  upon  the  river  bank,  they 
called  it  Carisbrooke,  which  in  their  language 
meant  "  the  town  on  the  stream."     It  bewilders 


THE  STORY  OF  A    CASTLE.  I43 

US  to  think,  as  you  and  I  stand  here  upon  the  old 
wall  of  the  castle  and  look  down  upon  the  village 
roofs,  how  very  long  ago  that  must  have  been. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  people  of  whom  I  am 
telling  you,  when  they  built  a  town,  especially 
one  which  they  expected  to  make  an  important 
one,  to  build  also  some  kind  of  a  fortress  or  fort 
near  it,  for  defense  against  their  enemies.  So  it 
appears  that  those  who  first  settled  here  at  Caris- 
brooke,  noticing  the  high  and  rugged  hill  near 
them,  rising  up  out  of  the  valley,  and  in  some 
places  quite  difficult  of  ascent,  saw  that  it  was  a 
good  place  for  a  fort,  and  accordingly  built  one 
upon  the  summit,  in  their  own  rude  fashion. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  Carisbrooke  Castle. 
The  people  I  speak  of  were  Britons,  not  such  as 
Englishmen  and  Americans  now  are,  for  they 
are  Saxon  in  their  origin,  but  such  as  the  inhab- 
itants of  Wales,  "or  the  Welshmen  are.  About 
as  long  ago  as  when  our  Saviour  was  living  on 
the  earth,  it  is  thought  that  they  first  inhabited 
the  village  of  Carisbrooke,  and  began,  in  their 
rude  way,  this  castle  on  the  hill. 

Some  five  hundred  years  after,  the  Saxons 
came.     We  will  now  go  down  from   this  part 


144         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

of  the  wall  where  we  have  been  standing,  and 
crossing  the  castle-yard  into  the  northeast  corner 
of  it,  we  see  rising  above  us  a  round  tower, 
covered  to  the  very  top  with  ivy.  A  long  flight 
of  stone  steps,  eighty-one  in  number,  will  lead 
us  to  the  summit,  and,  if  you  please,  we  will 
ascend  them.  You  perceive  that  there  is  no 
way  of  getting  into  the  tower  but  by  those  steps; 
and  if  you  observe  closely  you  will  see  that  the 
tower  itself  is  built  upon  the  summit  of  a  high 
mound,  which  seems  to  have  been  thrown  up 
for  the  purpose,  and  the  sides  of  which  are  now 
covered  with  small  trees  and  shrubs.  Along 
the  slope  of  this  mound  the  stone  steps  run  until 
they  bring  you  to  the  gates  of  the  tower.  Of 
these  gates  you  see  that  there  were  three,  and 
some  of  the  iron  hinges  on  which  they  hung 
are  still  in  the  wall.  The  first  of  the  gates  was 
what  is  called  a  portcullis,  that  is  a  strong  heavy 
gate,  moving  up  and  down  in  grooves,  and  with 
sharp  iron  spikes  along  the  lower  edge.  You 
can  see  now  the  grooves  in  the  stone  pillars  on 
each  side  the  gate-way.  Beyond  this  there  are 
two  other  gates,  and  then  3-0U  come  into  the 
tower,  now  an  open  space,  the  roof  having  long 


THE  STORY  OF  A    CASTLE.  1 45 

since  decayed.  You  perceive  that  an  enemy 
wishing  to  take  this  tovver  would  have  first  to 
come  up  those  steep  stone  stairs,  then  force  his 
way  through  those  three  gates,  with  the  defenders 
shooting  at  him  from  the  loop-holes  and  from 
the  summit.  The  only  possible  way  to  take  it 
would  be  to  batter  it  down,  which  would  be 
easy  enough  in  these  days,  but  would  have  been 
impossible  in  those  when  the  tower  was  built, 
for  then  they  had  no  cannon  for  such  purposes. 
This  tower  was  called  "  The  Keep,"  because  it 
was  so  strong.  It  was  built  by  the  Saxons, 
probably  not  less  than  thirteen  hundred  years 
ago. 

But  now  out  "  story  "  comes  forward  five  hun- 
dred years  more,  and  we  are  at  the  time  when 
William  the  Conqueror  crossed  over  from 
France,  and  in  the  dreadful  battle  of  Hastings 
made  himself  master  of  England.  He  and  those 
who  came  over  with  him  were  called  Normans, 
because  they  lived  in  Normandy,  a  part  of 
France.  A  few  days  ago  I  stood  upon  that  old 
battle-ground.  I  saw  where  the  Normans  and 
the  Saxons  fought  each  other,  with  their  terrible 
weapons,  from  seven  in  the  morning  until  night, 

7 


146  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

and  the  spot  where  Harold,  then  the  King  of 
England,  fell,  with  an  arrow  in  his  brain. 
Among  those  who  came  over  with  William  was 
a  nobleman  named  Fitz-Osborne.  To  him  the 
king  gave  Carisbrooke  Castle,  with  the  village 
and  broad  lands  adjacent.  He  built  these  other 
walls  which  we  see  around  us;  the  massive  gate- 
way, also,  through  which  we  passed  as  we 
entered  the  castle,  the  chapel  of  St.  Nicholas, 
whose  ruined  wall  we  saw  upon  our  right  as  we 
came  in,  the  mansion  for  the  residence  of  the 
governor  or  captain  of  the  castle  which  we  saw 
in  front,  and  all  these  high,  strong  walls,  which 
enclose  about  an  acre  and  a  half  of  ground.  All 
these  were  built  by  William  Fitz-Osborne,  not 
far  from  eight  hundred  years  ago. 

If,  now,  we  come  forward  again  another  five 
hundred  years,  we  are  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth, 
the  great  Qiieen.  By  that  time  the  castle  needed 
repairing.  She  repaired  it,  and  also  enlarged  it. 
You  remember  that  as  we  came  up  the  hill,  we 
left  by  mistake  the  direct  road  to  the  entrance 
of  the  castle  and  went  round  to  the  back  of  it. 
We  were  thus  obliged  to  almost  encircle  it  be- 
fore reaching  the  only  place  where  a  visitor  can 


THE  STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  1 47 

get  in.  We  thought  it  a  long  walk;  —  and  so  it 
was,  much  longer  than  if  the  castle  were  now  as 
Fitz-Osborne  left  it,  for  Elizabeth  caused  extensive 
out- works,  as  they  are  called,  to  be  built;  — that 
is,  another  strong  wall,  though  not  so  high, 
with  embankments  of  earth  within,  upon  which 
cannon  could  be  planted.  These  additional 
walls  makes  the  whole  space  enclosed  about 
twenty  acres.  No  wonder  we  felt  tired  when 
at  the  end  of  such  a  long  walk,  after  climbing 
the  steep  hill,  besides.  But  we  reached  the  en- 
trance at  last,  and  there  we  found  more  of  Eliza- 
beth's work.  For  before  we  came,  in  entering, 
to  the  main  wall  and  gate,  we  had  to  pass 
through  another  one,  and  then  along  a  wind- 
ing passage,  with  a  wall  on  either  side  of  us. 
These,  too,  were  built  by  Elizabeth,  about  three 
hundred  years  ago.  Since  then  the  castle  has 
remained  as  it  now  is,  except  that  after  some 
time  less  care  was  shown  in  preserving  it,  and 
little  by  little  it  has  fallen  in  ruins,  with  the 
exception  of  the  exterior  walls  and  the  mansion 
house  within. 

Connected  with   the   mansion   house,   or   near 
it,    is   a   very    curious    thing — the    well-house. 


148  UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

This  is  a  small  stone  building  within  which  is 
a  well  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  deef.  It  is 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  down  to  the  water, 
which  itself  has  a  depth  of  ninety  feet.  Of 
course  it  would  be  impossible  to  bring  up  water 
from  such  a  depth  by  hand,  so  they  have  a  large 
wheel,  to  which  a  horizontal  beam  is  attached 
running  over  the  top  of  the  well,  with  a  strong 
rope  winding  around  it.  The  wheel  is  worked 
by  a  donkey.  At  the  command  of  his  master 
he  gets  upon  the  inside  of  the  rim  of  the  wheel, 
at  the  bottom,  of  course.  This  rim  is  about 
three  feet  wide,  and  as  he  treads  it  the  wheel 
turns  round,  the  beam  turns  also  and  winds  up 
the  rope,  and,  slowly,  up  comes  the  big  bucket, 
filled  with  water  wonderfully  sweet  and  cool. 
Not  long  ago  a  donkey  died  here  which  had 
worked  in  this  wheel  for  forty  years,  and  the 
one  before  him  had  done  duty  in  the  same  way 
for  forty-five  years.  The  well,  the  wall  of  which 
is  amazingly  strong,  was  built  in  the  time  of 
King  Stephen,  or  about  seven  hundred  years  ago; 
the  wheel  and  beam  now  in  use  were  put  there 
in  the  time  of  Elizabeth. 

But,  that  I  may  not  make  my  letter  too  long, 


THE   STORT  OF  A   CASTLE. 


149 


I  will  stop  here,  now,  and  tell  you  in  my  next 
about  some  of  the  people  who  have  lived  in  the 
castle. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   FOURTEENTH. 


THE    STORY    OF   A    CASTLE CONCLUDED. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

T  is  wonderful  to  think  what  a  busy, 
bustHng  scene  Carisbrooke  Castle  once 
presented,  still  and  melancholy  as  it 
is  now.  Through  the  great  gate-way 
by  which  we  entered,  how  often  have  bands  of 
steel-clad  soldiers  marched  in;  how  many  times 
have  warrior-knights,  in  glittering  armor,  with 
their  banners  and  trumpets,  and  their  scores  of 
followers,  pranced  through;  how  often  more 
peaceful  processions,  splendid  groups  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  returning  from  the  chase,  gaily 
chattering  as  they  j^assed  under  the  massive  arch 
and  came  out  into  the  castle -yard,  where,  per- 
haps, little  children,  boys  and  girls,  were  at  play. 


THE   STORY  OF  A   CASTLE.  151 

At  other  times  the  soldiers,  mounting  the  walls, 
have  seen  their  enemy  encamped  below,  and 
have  manfully  resisted  them.  But,  although 
several  times  besieged,  the  old  castle  was  never 
taken. 

One  part  of  our  story  is  a  sad  one.  Have 
you  ever  read  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  England; 
those,  I  mean,  between  King  Charles  the  First 
and  his  Parliament?  You  may  remember  how 
trouble  arose  between  them  which  grew  at  last 
into  a  war;  how  several  battles  were  fought,  and 
how,  at  last,  the  King  was  defeated  and  made 
prisoner.  He  was  kept,  at  first,  in  a  kind  of 
honorable  captivity  at  Hampton  Court,  a  palace 
near  London.  From  this,  however,  he  escaped, 
and  after  concealing  himself  for  a  while  at  a 
place  where  the  people  were  friendly  to  him,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  would  try  to  have  the 
Governor  of  Carisbrooke  Castle,  one  Colonel 
Hammond,  give  him  a  shelter  here.  It  ended 
in  his  being  brought  to  the  castle  as  a  prisoner. 
When  a  boy  of  nine  years,  and  again  wdien 
a  youth  of  eighteen,  he  had  been  here,  and  had 
gone  out  and  come  in  with  hunting  parties,  such 
as  I  spoke  of  a  minute  ago.      Over  yonder,  in 


153         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

what  was  then  Parkhurst  Forest,  but  where  you 
now  see  those  extensive  barracks  for  soldiers,  he 
went  hunting,  and  as  he  returned  to  the  castle 
little  dreamed,  I  suppose,  that  it  was  one  day 
to  be  his  prison.  And  yet,  thirty  years  after  the 
second  of  those  visits,  he  rode  up  again  along 
the  path  that  now  winds  so  beautifully  under 
the  trees,  rounding  the  hill,  and,  with  the  stern 
Puritan  soldiers  guarding  him,  passed  in  by  the 
gateway,  which  then,  no  doubt,  seemed  to  him 
gloomy  and  threatening. 

At  first  the  prisoner-king  was  treated  well, 
but,  little  by  little,  things  changed.  One  after 
another  of  his  old  servants  were  sent  away, 
until  at  last  his  best  friend  near  him  was  an  old 
man  who  came  in  each  morning  to  light  his 
fire.  His  hair  and  beard  turned  gray  and  grew 
to  a  great  length,  while  his  clothes  were  neglected 
and  soon  became  very  unlike  what  kings  are 
wont  to  wear.  Twice  he  tried  to  escape,  each 
time  by  a  window  in  the  castle.  The  first  time 
the  opening  between  the  bars  was  too  small, 
and  after  passing  his  head  through  he  hung  by 
the  breast  and  shoulders  until,  with  much  diffi- 
culty, he  succeeded  in  forcing  himself  back.     He 


THE  STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  1 53 

was  then  removed  to  another  part  of  the  castle, 
and  after  some  time  made  another  attempt. 
One  of  the  window-bars  he  cut  in  two  with  a 
file  and  some  aqua  fortis  which  friends  outside 
had  managed  to  send  in  to  him.  But  just  as  he 
was  passing  out  through  the  wider  opening  so 
made,  he  saw  that  men  were  on  guard  under 
the  window,  and  that  escape  was  thus  made 
impossible.  Sadly  he  closed  his  window  and 
went  back  to  his  bed. 

After  many  months  had  thus  passed,  the  Par- 
liament proposed  terms  of  agreement;  the  king 
was  taken  from  the  castle  down  to  Newport, 
that  he  might  meet  the  messengers  sent  to  con- 
fer with  him.  Terms  were  finally  agreed  to, 
but  meanwhile  the  army,  which  was  unfriendly 
to  Charles,  had  got  the  power  in  its  hands,  and 
by  its  means  the  king  was  taken  away  as  a 
prisoner  to  another  castle  where  he  remained 
until  they  took  him  to  London  and  put  him  to 
death.  In  the  register  of  the  old  church  at 
Carisbrooke  there  are  two  records  made,  which 
tell,  in  a  few  sad  words,  how  this  sonowful 
history  ended.     The  first  is: 

7* 


154         UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

"The  sixth  day  of  September,  King  Charles  went 
from  the  Castle  to  Newport  to  treat,  and  the  last  day 
of  November  he  went  from  Newport  to  Hurst  Castle 
to  prison,  cai'ried  awaj  by  two  troops  of  horse." 

The  second  is  as  follows: 

"In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1649,  January  the  30th 
day,  was  King  Charles  beheaded  at  Whitehall  Gate." 

It  was  in  1647  that  he  had  been  first  taken 
to  Carisbrooke  Castle,  and  so  from  that  time 
till  his  death  not  far  from  two  years  must  have 
elapsed.  As  we  entered  the  castle  through  the 
main  gate,  did  you  notice  a  large  window  in 
the  wall  upon  the  left  hand  }  It  is  in  what  must 
have  been  the  second  story  of  the  rooms  which 
then  ran  along  upon  that  side,  and  the  ruins 
of  which  you  now  see  at  the  base  of  the  wall. 
That  window  is  the  one  by  which  King  Charles 
tried  the  second  time  to  escape.  You  see  that 
it  has  iron  bars  running  up  and  down  it,  half  as 
thick  as  a  man's*  wrist.  One  of  these  bars  has 
been  taken  out.  I  wonder  if  it  is  the  one  which 
King  Charles  cut  with  his  file  and  his  aqua  fortis. 

There  is  another  window,  still  more  sadly 
associated  with  the   history   of  this  same   king, 


THE  STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  1 55 

which  I  could  show  you  if  you  would  visit 
London  with  me  some  time.  As  we  rode  down 
from  Trafalgar  Square,  where  the  monument 
to  Lord  Nelson,  the  great  sailor,  is,  to  West- 
minster Abbey,  we  should  pass  through  what 
used  to  be  the  inner  court  of  the  palace  of 
Whitehall,  but  is  now  a  street.  A  part  of  the 
palace  is  still  standing,  and  at  one  corner  of  the 
second  story  is  the  window  out  of  which  the 
king  stepped  upon  the  scaffold  which  had  been 
built  close  to  it,  and  a  few  minutes  after  laid  his 
head  upon  the  executionei-'s  block.  These  two 
windows,  in  Carisbrooke  Castle  and  in  the  Pal- 
ace of  Whitehall,  will  be  memorable  for  a  long 
time,  will  they  not.^* 

But  there  is  still  another  person  of  whom  1 
must  speak  to  you  in  this  Story  of  a  Castle. 
This  time  it  is  a  little  girl.  When  she  comes 
to  live  in  the  castle  she  is  only  in  her  fifteenth 
year.  She  is  a  king's  daughter.  Perhaps  you 
sometimes  think  that  it  must  be  very  nice  to  be 
the  son  or  daughter  of  a  king,  and  that  such 
can  never  have  many  things  to  trouble  tliem, 
but  everything  possible  to  make  them  happy. 
This  little  girl  had  trouble  enough,  though  she 


156  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

was,  in  spite  of  that,  a  cheerful  and  happy  child. 
Her  name  was  JElizabeth,  and  she  was  the 
daughter  of  the  king  of  whom  I  just  spoke  to 
you.  King  Charles  the  First.  About  a  year  and 
a  half  after  her  father's  death  she  was  brought 
to  Carisbrooke  Castle,  with  her  brother  Henry, 
two  years  younger.  The  persons  who  then  gov- 
erned England  did  not  wish  that  there  should 
be  any  more  kings  or  queens  in  that  country, 
and  since  these  children  of  King  Charles  might 
some  day  wish  to  be  such,  or  some  people  might 
try  to  make  them  such,  they  shut  them  up  in 
this  castle.  They  were  allowed  to  run  about 
inside  the  castle,  and  to  play  upon  the  green  in 
the  castle  yard,  but  not  to  go  outside  the  walls; 
so  they,  too,  were  prisoners. 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  remain  long  a  prisoner. 
In  less  than  a  month  she  died.  She  had  always 
had  poor  health,  and  the  confinement  now,  with 
the  sorrow  she  had  felt  at  her  father's  sad  fate, 
made  her  much  worse,  so  that  she  soon  died. 
But  she  died  very  happy.  Her  father,  shortly 
before  his  death,  had  given  her  a  Bible  as  a 
keepsake.  This,  when  she  was  dying,  she 
asked  those  who  waited  upon  her  to  place  under 


THE   STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  157 

her  head.  It  was  thus  seen  how  much  she 
loved  her  father,  but  I  think,  also,  how  much 
she  loved  the  dear  Book  of  God.  Many  things 
that  she  said,  too,  showed  that  she  loved  and 
trusted  in  the  Saviour,  and  when  she  died,  I 
have  no  doubt,  her  soul,  from  the  castle-prison, 
went  to  be  free  and  happy  in  heaven. 

They  buried  her  in  a  church  in  Newport, 
of  which  I  spoke  in  my  former  letter  as  now 
the  capital  of  the  island.  This  was  more  than 
two  hundred  years  ago.  It  was  forgotten  after 
a  time  that  she  had  been  buried  there,  as  there 
was  nothing  placed  over  the  spot  to  keep  it  in 
memory.  But  a  few  years  since,  when  some 
workmen  were  digging  a  grave  for  some  other 
person,  they  found  a  lead  coffin  with  the  in- 
scription, "Elizabeth,  second  daughter  of  King 
Charles  the  First,  who  died  at  Carisbrooke 
Castle,  Sept.  8th,  1650."  Of  course  they  did 
not  disturb  it,  but  covered  it  again  and  placed 
another  inscription  where  it  could  be  seen,  di- 
rectly over  the  spot.  In  1856,  a  little  more  than 
two  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the  young 
princess,  Queen  Victoria  caused  a  monument  to 
be  placed  in  the  church,  the  marble  figure  of 


158         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

a  young  girl  lying  with  her  head  upon  a  Bible. 
Upon  the  monument  are  these  words: 


"  To  the  memory  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth^  daugh- 
ter of  King  Charles  /.,  ivho  died  at  Carisbrooke  Cas- 
tle, Sept.  8,  1650,  and  is  interred  beneath  the  cJiaiicel 
of  thii  church,  this  monument  is  erected  as  a  token  of 
respect  for  her  virtues  a  fid  of  sympathy  for  her  mis- 
fortunes, by  Victoria  R.  " 


This  was  a  beautiful  act  in  Qiieen  Victoria, 
was  it  not?  As  we  stood  looking  at  the  lovely 
marble  figure,  and  thought  of  the  long  sickness 
and  the  long  sorrow  of  this  young  princess,  we 
felt  glad  that  there  is  a  heaven  where  the  suffer- 
ing and  the  sorrowful  shall  suffer  and  be  sorrow- 
ful no  more. 

But  now,  as  we  have  come  down  from  the 
castle,  I  think  I  will  take  you  with  me  to  another 
place  and  tell  you  about  another  young  person, 
not  unlike  the  lovely  and  gentle  Princess  Eliza- 
beth, although  in  a  very  different  condition 
of  life.  Do  you  have  among  your  Sabbath- 
school  books  the  one  entitled  "  Little  Jane,  the 
Young  Cottager?"  She  was  a  dear  little  Chris- 
tian girl,  so  good  and  so  intelligent,  although  so 


Little  Jane   Learning  the  Verses. 


't^ 


THE   STORY  OF  A    CASTLE.  1 59 

poor  and  with  so  few  opportunities  of  improve- 
ment, that  her  pastor,  Legli  Richmond,  wrote 
a  book  about  her  after  her  death.  The  church 
where  he  preached  is  at  Brading,  also  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  and  a  few  miles  from  Ryde. 
It  is  a  very  ancient  church,  having  been  built 
in  the  year  704,  and  is  now  more  than  eleven 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old.  Just  in  the  real 
of  it  "  Little  Jane  "  is  buried.  We  rode  over  to 
Brading  on  the  evening  of  the  day  after  our 
visit  to  Carisbrooke  Castle,  and  saw  the  church, 
and  the  spot  where  little  Jane  lies.  Uj^on  the 
stone  are  these  lines,  written  by  the  good  min- 
ister who  wrote  the  book : 

"Ye  who  the  power  of  God  delight  to  trace 
And  mark  with  joy  each  monument  of  grace, 
Tread  softly  o'er  this  grave,  as  ye  explore 

'The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor.' 

"A  child  reposes  underneath  this  sod, 
A  child  to  memory  dear,  and  dear  to  God, 
Rejoice,  yet  shed  the  sympathetic  tear; 
Jane  the  'Young  Cottager'  lies  buried  here." 

It  was  the  30th  of  January,  1799,  that  little 
Jane  died,  at  the  age  of  fifteen.     So  long   ago 


l6o         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

as  that,  children  did  not  have  such  Sunday- 
school  books,  nor  such  Sunday-schools  as  we 
now  have;  and  this  little  girl  with  others,  young 
like  herself,  was  sent  into  the  church-yard  often, 
and  made  to  learn  the  pious  verses  on  the  tomb- 
stones, as  one  way  of  interesting  them  in  sacred 
things.  Little  Jane  was  very  willing  to  do  this, 
and  they  show  to  visitors  the  stone  from  which 
she  learned  the  verses  that  she  liked  best.  I 
will  copy  them  here: 

"  Forgive,  blest  shade,  the  tributary  tear, 

That  mourns  thj  exit  from  a  world  like  this; 

Forgive  the  wish  that  would  have  kept  thee  here, 

And  stayed  thj  progress  to  the  seats  of  bliss. 

"No  more  confined  to  grovelling  scenes  of  night, 
No  more  a  tenant  pent  in  mortal  clay; 
Now  should  we  rather  hail  thy  glorious  flight, 
And  trace  thy  journey  to  the  realms  of  day.'* 

Do  you  not  think  that  little  Jane  and  the  Prin- 
cess Elizabeth  must  have  been  somewhat  alike, 
although  one  was  a  King's  daughter  and  the 
other  a  cottager?  True  religion  is  just  the 
same  in  the  one  as  in  the  other,  and  the  love 
of  Jesus  will  show  itself  in  just  the  same  ,way 


THE   STORT  OF  A    CASTLE.  l6l 

in  both.  They  both  wear  crowns  now.  They 
are  in  the  happy  world  where  there  are  no  castles 
and  no  graves;  for  there  men  are  never  wicked 
and  never  try  to  kill  each  other,  and  there,  too, 
"  they  die  no  more." 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   FIFTEENTH. 

a  walk  by  a  river. 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 
t)gr\Q^jS  I  have  written  to  you  in  former  let- 
ters about  things  in  England,  France 
and  Italy,  it  may  be  well  to  write 
one  that  shall  tell  you  something  of 
what  I  have  seen  in  Scotland;  these  four  which 
I  have  named  being  the  countries  I  have  visited, 
chiefly,  while  abroad.  So  I  am  going  to  write 
to  you  about  "A  Walk  by  a  River." 

The  river  is  a  very  small  one.  In  fact,  it  can 
scarcely,  with  propriety,  be  called  a  river  at  all. 
It  is  more  like  what  the  Scotch  people  call,  I 
believe,  a  "  burn,"  or  brook.  And  as  it  is  a 
"  burn "  full  of  little   rapids    and    waterfalls,    a 


A   WALK  BT  A  RIVER. 


163 


still  more  suitable  name,  at  least  in  this  part  of 
it,  would  be  a  "  linn,"  which  means  a  waterfall. 
The  name  of  the  stream  is  the  Eske,  but  the 
particular  locality  I  am  to  describe  is  called 
Roslin ;  I  suppose  because  "  linn "  meaning  a 
waterfall,  and  "  ross "  a  promontory  or  cliff,  and 
as  this  little  stream,  or  succession  of  rapids  and 
cascades,  runs  between  high  cliffs,  in  some 
places  covered  with  trees,  in  others  mere  naked 
rocks,  the  word  "  Roslin "  would  tell  exactly 
what  it  is.  The  walk  which  I  took  is  about 
one  mile  in  length,  descending  to  the  little  river 
at  one  end  from  the  cliffs,  and  then  at  the  other 
climbing  up  to  their  top  again. 

I  will  begin  my  little  story  where  I  began 
my  walk.  After  riding  in  the  cars  about  seven 
miles  south  of  Edinburgh,  I  got  out  at  a  station 
called  Hawthornden ;  that  is,  "  the  den  of  haw- 
thorns"—  the  hawthorn  being,  as  you  know, 
the  tough  and  sturdy  little  tree,  or  shrub,  which 
the  people  in  England  and  Scotland  make 
hedges  of,  instead  of  fences,  for  their  farms. 
But  there  are  a  good  many  nice  things  growing 
around  and  in  Hawthornden,  besides  the  haw- 
thorn.    After  walking  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


164         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS, 

from  the  station,  I  turned  in  at  a  gate  through 
a  solid  stone  wall,  and  found  myself  at  once 
in  one  of  the  most  lovely  parks  I  have  seen 
anywhere.  It  was  not  level,  as  many  parks 
are,  but  broken  into  little  hills  and  slopes,  along 
which  the  path  wound  downward  to  the  "den," 
under  noble  elms  and  oaks,  while  the  green 
s-ward  on  each  side  was  smooth,  and  bright,  and 
clean  as  possible.  It  was  hard  to  "  keep  off  the 
grass,"  as  the  notice  at  the  gate  told  me  to  do. 
After  winding  downward  along  this  path  for 
some  time,  with  the  views  changing  at  almost 
every  step,  and  each  one  with  some  new  beauty 
in  it,  I  came  at  last  in  sight  of  what  seemed  at 
first  like  the  ruins  of  a  castle;  a  high  old  wall, 
some  day  evidently  part  of  a  fine  residence, 
but  now  standing  roofless,  and  covered  with 
ivy.  A  few  steps  further  brought  into  view  the 
whole  building,  a  portion  of  which  has  been 
kept  in  repair,  and  is  a  commodious  dwelling. 

This  was  the  house  to  which  the  name  Haw- 
thornden  liad  been  given,  because  built,  as  you 
will  see,  in  a  kind  of  den  where  once,  I  suppose, 
if  not  now,  the  hawthorn  was  very  abundant. 
Here,  between  two  and  three  hundred  years  ago, 


A    WALK  BY  A   RIVER,  1 65 

a  poet  lived,  named  William  Drummond,  and 
his  descendants  are  here  still.  He  lived  at  the 
same  time  w^ith  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  some  other  of  the  great  folks  we 
read  about.  I  can  not  stop  now  to  tell  you  any 
more  of  him  than  just  to  mention  a  visit  he  had 
once  from  one  of  the  persons  I  have  mentioned, 
Ben  Jonson.  "  Ben,"  as  everybod}^  called  him, 
was  himself  a  poet,  and  a  writer  of  stage-plays; 
not  so  good  a  man  as  I  wish  he  was,  but  quite  a 
famous  one  in  his  day.  When  Ben  arrived, 
Drummond,  or  "  EILawthornden,"  as  people  often 
called  him,  sat  in  a  pleasant  seat  under  a  large 
sycamore,  which  was  still  standing  a  few  years 
ago.  As  he  sat  there,  looking  out  for  his  guest, 
I  presume,  he  saw  a  large,  portly  man  coming 
down  the  walk,  with  a  step  as  independent,  and 
with  as  much  an  air  of  being  at  home  as  if  the 
house  and  grounds  belonged  to  him,  and  he  were 
at  home  in  reality.  Drummond  recognized  him 
and  called  out, 

"Welcome,  welcome,  rojal  Ben;" 

and  Ben  replied,  poet-like,  with  a  rhyme, 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  Hawthornden.'* 


1 66  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

They  had  a  good  time  together,  and  Drummond 
afterwards  made  a  book  about  it. 

Visitors  are  not  allowed  to  go  into  the  house, 
but  they  may  go  unde7'  it.  The  house  is  built 
upon  a  high,  rocky  cliff,  one  of  those  I  told  you 
about  just  now.  In  ancient  times,  nobody  knows 
when,  some  caves  were  cut  in  the  solid  rock  of 
this  cliff,  and  were  then  reached  by  some  steps 
which  had  been  also  cut  downward  along  the 
cliff,  in  a  slanting  direction,  where  it  f;ices  the 
ravine.  There  were  twenty-seven  of  these  steps 
running  down  from  the  top;  at  the  foot  of  them 
w^as  a  little  bridge  crossing  a  chasm,  and  then 
there  were  eight  more  steps  leading  up  to  the 
entrance  of  the  caves,  a  hole  just  about  large 
enough  to  admit  one  person.  This  is  as  it  used 
to  be.  The  steps  and  the  bridge,  however,  are 
now  never  used,  but  an  opening  into  the  caves 
has  been  made,  so  that  they  can  be  entered  from 
the  garden. 

As  you  go  in,  you  are  first  in  a  long,  arched 
passage,  seventy-five  feet  in  length  and  six  in 
breadth,  which  conducts  you  straight  to  the 
other  side  where  the  entrance  used  to  be,  and 
through    which   you    look   down    into  the  glen, 


A   WALK  Br  A  RIVER.  1 67 

and  hear  the  rippling  of  the  stream  below. 
Connected  with  this  passage  are  three  other 
rooms;  one  called  "the  King's  bed-chamber," 
another  "the  "  King's  dining-room,"  and  another 
"  the  King's  guard-room."  In  one  of  these  rooms 
the  wall  upon  one  side  is  cut  out  into  little  box- 
like compartments,  each  about  nine  inches 
square,  Avhich  look  as  if  they  might  have  been 
meant  for  books,  or  as  "  pigeon-holes,"  for  keep- 
ing papers  and  other  things.  They  call  this  "  the 
King's  library."  It  is  pretended  that  King 
Robert  Bruce,  a  very  famous  man  who  lived  a 
long  while  ago,  made  these  caves  his  dwelling, 
at  a  time  when  his  enemies  had  become  too 
strong  for  him,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hide  him- 
self for  a  while.  In  the  end  of  the  long  passage 
where  you  come  near  the  ancient  entrance  there 
is  what  they  call  his  broad-sword  lying  upon 
a  table,  along  with  the  writing-desk  of  John 
Knox,  the  great  Reformer  in  Queen  Mary's 
time.  I  do  not  find  that  there  is  any  history 
for  what  they  say  of  Bruce  having  lived  here, 
and  I  doubt  if  he  ever  did.  The  caves  were 
probably  made  in  the  old  stormy  times,  when 
people  needed  such  places  to  hide  in,  or  in  which 


1 68         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

to  keep  their  valuables  from  robbers.  But  it  is 
time  we  had  resumed  our  ^'  walk  by  the  river." 
A  little  way  from  the  house  I  have  just  been 
describing,  the  visitor  leaves  the  handsome,  gar- 
den-like grounds,  and  comes  into  what  is  still  a 
wilderness.  At  first  the  path  runs  along  the 
verge  of  the  high  cliff,  and  stepping  a  little  to  the 
right,  one  may  look  down  the  steep  face  of  it, 
hundreds  of  feet  into  the  deep  ravine.  Passing 
on  from  this,  he  descends  in  a  path  that  winds 
about  under  the  trees,  which  have  been  left  to 
grow  in  their  own  wild  way,  catching  here  and 
there  glimpses  of  the  high,  rocky  walls  of  the 
glen.  After  a  time  die  little  river  is  reached  and 
crossed  by  a  wooden  bridge,  just  wide  enough 
for  one  person  at  a  time.  Near  the  end  of  the 
bridge  a  gate  opens,  and  when  you  have  passed, 
shuts  and  locks  itself,  so  that  it  is  impossible 
to  return  through  it.  Then  along  the  river  side 
you  go,  under  the  steep  cliff,  now  up  a  few 
steps,  now  down  again  near  the  margin  of  the 
stream,  now  with  a  bare,  frowning  rock  hanging 
over  you,  now  with  trees  and  shrubs  clothing 
the  less  precipitous  sides;  everything  is  still  save 
the    singing  of  the  stream   as  it  swiftly  courses 


A    WALK  Br  A  RIVER.  1 69 

over  its  stony  bed,  the  whisper  of  the  wnid  in 
the  tree-tops,  and  now  and  then,  perhaps,  the 
carol  of  a  bird.  You  seem  out  of  the  world, 
in  that  secluded  place,  and  can  scarcely  believe 
tliat  there  are  great  and  noisy  cities,  busy,  bust- 
ling crowds,  to  which  in  a  few  moments  you 
must  go  back. 

I  must  not  linger  on  my  road,  as  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you  of  at  the  end.  Fancy  yourselves, 
then,  making  your  way  for  a  mile,  by  a  narrow 
path,  through  what,  save  for  the  path,  is  as 
much  a  wilderness  still  as  when  the  human  foot 
first  entered  it.  After  a  while  the  trees  begin 
to  part;  you  look  forward  and  there  is  more 
light;  evidently  you  are  coming  out  into  an 
open  country  again.  The  cliff,  on  the  side  where 
you  are  walking,  becomes  a  steep  slope,  instead 
of  a  precipice,  and  is  covered  with  green  grass 
instead  of  trees  and  underbrush.  Upon  the  top 
is  a  church,  gray  with  age,  yet  beautiful,  with 
its  gothic  windows  and  pinnacles.  Looking  for- 
ward, you  see  the  still  grayer  ruins  of  a  castle, 
not  quite  so  high  up  as  the  church,  and  partly 
hidden  in  trees.  These  are  Roslin  Castle  and 
Roslin  Chapel.  Pursuing  your  way  to  the 
8 


170         UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

castle,  you  find  it  is  a  ruin  indeed,  with  the 
exception  of  one  building  within  the  walls, 
which  is  still   a  dwelling. 

We  are  here  once  more  among  the  decaying 
works  of  men  long  since  passed  away.  It  is 
probably  eight  or  nine  hundred  years  since  Ros- 
lin  Castle  was  built,  and  the  chapel  is  at  least 
half  as  old.  Wandering  among  the  ruins  of 
the  former,  as  it  "  frowns  o'er  the  rocky  steep," 
you  can  scarcely  believe  that  it  was  once  what 
we  are  told  it  was.  I  find  it  said  by  one  \'ery 
old  writer  that  the  proud  Scottish  knight  who 
lived  in  it  some  four  hundred  years  ago.  Sir 
William  Sinclair,  Prince  of  the  Orkney  Islands, 
was  served  at  his  table  in  vessels  of  gold  and 
silver.  He  had  one  lord  to  superintend  his 
household,  another  to  give  him  his  cup  of  wine 
at  dinner,  another  to  do  his  carving;  while  his 
lady  was  served  by  seventy-five  gentlemen,  and 
by  fifty-three  ladies  all  daughters  of  noblemen, 
adorned  in  silk  and  velvet,  with  chains  of  gold 
and  all  sorts  of  jewelry.  When  she  rode  out 
two  hundred  horsemen  attended  her,  and  if  at 
niglit,  eighty  other  men,  with  lighted  torches. 
What  a  grand  person,   truly!     Where   are   they 


A   WALK  Br  A  RIVER.  lyi 

all  now?  There  is  not  an  echo  of  voice  or  step 
on  Roslin  steep  to-day  to  remind  of  the  gay 
and  busy  scene  of  the  times  so  long  gone  by, 
and  the  proud  hall  where  they  reveled  and 
rejoiced  has  crumbled  wholly  away.  Alas,  what 
is  human  greatness?     A  dream  only. 

They  tell  a  curious  story  of  the  man  who 
owned  and  occupied  Roslin  Castle  in  the  time 
of  Robert  Bruce.  His  name,  I  think,  was  Sir 
Oliver  Sinclair.  King  Robert,  who  then  lived 
in  Edinburgh,  was  very  fond  of  hunting,  and 
used  often  to  chase  the  deer  on  Pentland  Hills, 
which  are  near  to  Roslin.  He  had  several  times 
started  a  deer  of  a  peculiar  color,  so  swift  that  his 
dogs  had  never  succeeded  in  pulling  her  down. 
One  day,  as  he  was  out  as  usual,  accompanied 
by  his  knights  and  among  them  Sir  Oliver 
Sinclair,  he  spoke  of  die  deer,  and  in  rather 
a  bantering  tone  asked  if  any  of  them  could 
succeed  better  than  he.  Sir  Oliver  had  two 
dogs,  one  of  them  named  "  Help,"  and  the  other 
*'  Hold,"  which  he  asserted  were  better  dogs  than 
the  King's,  and  would  catch  the  deer.  He 
offered  at  length  to  wager  his  head  against  a 
certain    tract   of   land    near  by,    called    Pentland 


172         UNCLE  yOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

Moor,  that  his  dogs  would  catch  the  deer  be- 
fore she  could  cross  a  little  stream  named  March 
burn.  The  deer  was  soon  roused.  Help  and 
Hold  pressed  hard  after  her.  The  knight  seemed 
likely  to  lose  his  wager  and  his  life.  They  say 
that  he  called  out, 

"Help,   Haud  (Hold),  an'  je  may, 
Or  Roslin  will  lose  his  head  this  day." 

The  deer  plunged  into  the  burn,  and  was  half 
way  across,  when  Hold  seized  her,  and  Help 
coming  quickly  up,  they  together  brought  her 
down.  Thus  Sir  Oliver  won  a  handsome  ad- 
dition to  his  lands.  But  I  have  no  idea,  for  my 
part,  that  if  he  had  lost  his  wager,  he  would 
at  the  same  time  have  lost  his  head.  Perhaps 
the  story  is  only  a  story.  Anyhow,  it  has  a 
lesson  for  us.  Help  and  Hold  are  the  right 
sort  of  dog's  to  do  our  hunting  with  in  this 
world.  We  must  "  hold "  hard  if  we  mean 
to  really  win  any  prize,  and  be  as  ready  to 
"  help  "  as  to  hold.  Only  let  us  be  sure  that  we 
hunt  for  right  things,  and  in  a  right  way. 

But  now,  as  our  walk  by  the  river  is  finished, 
I  must  tell  you  what  it  makes  me  think  of.     I 


A   WALK  Br  A  RIVER.  1 73 

think  it  is  much  Hke  our  walk  through  Hfe.  I 
can  remember  when  hfe  seemed  to  me  very 
much  as  the  park  at  Hawthornden  seemed  as  I 
turned  into  it  through  the  gate  that  briglit  after- 
noon; when  it  appeared  a  very  pleasant  thing  to 
live,  and  as  if  there  was  not  much  else  to  do  in 
this  world  but  to  run  cheerily  along  a  smooth 
path,  with  the  green  slopes  around,  and  the 
whispering  leaves  overhead.  That  is  where  you 
are  now,  dear  boys  and  girls,  and  perhaps  you 
sometimes  wonder  at  the  wrinkles,  and  furrows, 
and  gray  hairs  which  we  older  ones  bear,  and 
are  puzzled  to  understand  why  life  should  seem 
so  hard.  But  the  path  soon  leaves  the  park, 
with  its  walks  and  slopes  and  flower-beds.  Be- 
fore we  know  it  we  are  amid  the  thickets  of 
the  wilderness.  The  steep  cliff  of  which  I  spoke, 
upon  whose  dizzy  verge  I  stood  looking  down 
into  the  gulf,  is  like  the  first  great  temptation 
which  one  encounters.  As  you  approach,  there 
seems  no  such  abyss  there.  The  ravine  is  nar- 
row just  at  that  point,  and  as  you  see  the  green 
branches  on  the  other  side,  you  imagine  that 
you  can,  if  you  choose,  go  down  the  steep  and 
then  up  again  under  those  pleasant  trees.     But 


1 74         UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS, 

arrived  at  the  verge,  you  peixeive  that  there  is 
no  way  to  go  down  but  to  plunge  headlong, 
while  sure  that  to  do  this  will  be  to  be  dashed 
in  pieces.  Happy  they  who  recoil  in  season 
from  the  brink  of  the  temptation  that  entices 
to  ruin! 

The  path  along  the  stream  has  something  of 
the  ruggedness  and  the  changefulness  of  our  way 
in  life.  The  gate  I  spoke  of,  which  opens  to  let 
us  pass  but  admits  of  no  return,  is  like  that  stern 
destiny  which  forbids  us  to  go  back,  no  matter 
what  we  may  have  lost  by  the  way  we  have 
come,  no  matter  what  we  may  dread  in  the  way 
we  have  yet  to  go.  The  voices  of  the  stream,  of 
the  leaves,  and  of  the  birds,  are  like  those  kind 
voices  with  which  a  good  Heavenly  Father 
makes  the  air  melodious  as  we  go  on,  if  only 
we  have  ears  to  hear  them,  and  are  not  so  im- 
patient with  the  hardness  of  the  way  as  to  have 
no  room  in  our  minds  for  cheerful  thoughts.  At 
last,  upon  the  high  hills  from  which  we  see  far 
over  into  the  life  beyond,  we  perceive  around  us 
ruins,  indeed,  many  things  broken  and  crumbled, 
many  works  come  to  naught,  many  hopes  perish- 
ing; but,  like  the  chapel   on   Roslin  steep.  Re- 


A    WALK  Br  A  RIVER.  iht 

ligion  is  there,  also,  to  tell  of  a  life  where  there 
are  no  ruins,  and  no  foot-sore  pilgrims  like  our- 
selves. 

As  I  think  of  my  walk  by  the  river,  I  can 
understand  better  a  good  many  things  which  I 
have  known  through  life.  But  this  I  see  —  that 
so  far  as,  earlier  or  later,  I  took  any  divine  prom- 
ise and  held  it  in  my  hand  as  a  guide  along  the 
rough  way,  as  a  help  or  a  hope,  it  has  been  a 
promise  never- failing.  Let  me  assure  you,  deaf 
young  friends,  that  there  are  safe  ways  in  life, 
though  a  thousand  times  more  rough  and  trying 
than  the  path  by  Roslin  Water,  and  that  these 
are  the  ways  in  which  the  Good  Father  leads,  as 
tie  holds  us  by  the  hand. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER    SIXTEENTH. 


TOM    GROWLER    AND    HIS    BROTHERS. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

O  any    of  you    happen    to   know  who 

Tom    Growler   is?      I    dare    say   not; 

and   I   think  you   would  never  guess. 

You  would  be  likely  to  first  guess  it 
is  a  boy,  perhaps,  then  a  dog,  or  a  horse, 
or  a  lion.  Tom  Growler  is  none  of  these. 
Tom  Growler  is  a  hell!  There!  I  knew  you 
would  be  astonished.  Yes,  a  bell,  and  a  big 
one;  and  all  his  big  brothers  are  bells.  Of 
course  Tom  lives  in  a  steeple.  It  is  a  London 
steeple,  and  the  most  famous  one  there ;  one 
of  the  steeples,  or  towers,  of  great  St.  Paul's  — 
a  cathedral  or  church  large  enough  to  hold  inside 
of  it  four  or  five  of  the  largest  churches  in  Illi- 
nois.    Tom   Growler  has   had    rather   a   curious 


TOM  GR  O  WLER  AND  HIS  BR  O  THER  S.        1 7  7 

history.  His  name  used  to  be  Great  Tom  of 
Westminster.  One  of  the  English  jooets,  I  for- 
get who,  put  him  once  into  a  couplet,  that  is  two 
hnes  of  verse,  which  he  wrote  one  night  when 
he  and  some  of  his  friends  were  out  later  than 
they  ought  to  be : 

"  Hark !   Harry,  'tis  time  to  be  gone, 

For  Westminster  Tom,  by  my  faith,  strikes  one." 

Tom  hung,  at  the  time  when  these  lines  were 
written  — more   than  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago  — in   a  tower  near  Westminster  Abbey,  in 
London,  which  was  called  the  Tower  of  West- 
minster.     It   stood    at   the    entrance    of   a   very 
large    and    stately    building   called    Westminster 
Hall,   through   which    one    passes   in  going  into 
the  Houses  of  Parliament.      The  bell  was  used 
in  connection  with  a  clock  for  striking  the  hours, 
and    to   ring  on    great   occasions.     It   was   very 
old.     While  it  hung  in  this  Tower  of  Westmin- 
ster it  had  a  Latin  inscription  upon  it,  which  I 
will    quote,    although,  of  course,   you    will    not 
know  what  it  means  till  I  tell  you.     This  is  the 
inscription,  some  of  the  words  being  spelt  a  little 
8* 


178  UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRAVELS. 

differently  from  the  way  we  spell  the  same  words 
now: 

"Tercius  aptavit  me  Rex,  Edwardque  vocavit, 
Sancti  decore  Edwardi  signeretur  ut  hore." 

The  meaning  is,  that  the  Third  King  had 
placed  it  there,  and  named  it  Edward,  that  it 
might  indicate  the  hours  of  Saint  Edward,  or 
be  rung  in  honor  and  memory  of  Saint  Edward. 
By  "  the  Third  King  "  is  meant  Henry  III.,  king 
of  England.  "  Saint  Edward  "  is  another  Eng- 
lish king  who  reigned  some  time  before  Henry, 
and  is  called  Edward  the  Confessor.  The  in- 
scription, then,  tells  us  that  the  bell  was  made 
in  Henry  the  Third's  time  and  named  Edward, 
after  Edward  the  Confessor,  that  when  it  was 
rung;  it  mig-ht  be  a  memorial  of  him.  This 
would  be  just  about  six  hundred  years  ago. 

Well,  for  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  years 
Tom  hung  in  the  tower  of  Westminster,  and 
did  his  duty  there,  without  ever  stopping  to 
think  that  in  that  long  interval  he  would  have 
to  tell  the  time  of  day  about  four  million  times. 
In  1708  they  wanted  him  at  St.  Paul's,  but 
in   carrying    him    to   the  cathedral  they  cracked 


TOM  GR  O  WLER  AND  HIS  BR  O  THERS.        1 79 

him,  and  he  had  to  be  melted  down  and  made 
over.  Out  of  this  hot  furnace,  as  people  often 
do,  he  came  bigger  than  ever,  for  they  put  in 
new  supples  of  the  stuff  he  was  made  of.  So 
he  came  out  a  big  fellow,  and  when  they  had 
got  him  fairly  housed  in  the  steeple,  he  began 
roaring  out  the  time  of  day  in  such  a  mighty, 
booming  voice,  that  they  gave  him  a  new  name, 
and  called  him  Tom  Growler.  I  heard  him 
once  telling  the  world  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  and 
I  must  say,  if  everybody  would  growl  as  music- 
ally as  he  goes,  people  might  growl  as  much  as 
they  pleased,  for  aught  I  care. 

Well,  this  is  Tom  Growler's  history,  told  in  a 
very  few  words,  though  he  has  tolled  it  in  a 
very  great  many  more,  in  his  sort  of  language. 
Tom  has  four  brothers,  all  of  them  younger  than 
himself,  I  believe,  and  all  having  the  same  name. 
If  they  lived  in  the  same  family,  this  might 
cause  some  confusion.  But  it  so  happens  that 
they  do  not  live  together,  and  so  they  can  be 
distinguished  by  the  names  of  the  places  the}'- 
live  in.  One  of  them  has  taken  Tom  Growlei-'s 
place  at  Westminster,  though  in  a  new  and 
much  handsomer  tower.     He  is  called  Tom  of 


I  So         UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

Westminster.  I  have  heard  him,  too,  sing  out 
the  time  of  day,  and  a  wonderfully  sweet  voice 
he  has.  Another  is  at  Oxford,  and  so  is  called 
Tom  of  Oxford.  He  lives  in  the  tower  of  Christ 
Church  College,  in  that  city.  When  Aunt 
Esther  and  I  visited  the  college,  Tom  was  good 
enough  to  speak  up  just  as  we  passed  through 
the  arch  in  the  tower  where  he  lives,  by  which 
they  get  into  the  college  square.  He  said  it 
was  twelve  o'clock,  and  we  had  to  stop  and 
hear  him  talk  in  that  mighty,  melodious  tone. 
Another  of  the  brothers  is  at  Exeter,  in  the 
cathedral  there,  and  so  is  called  Tom  of  Exeter. 
Another,  Tom  of  Lincoln,  is  in  the  cathedral 
of  Lincoln.  I  must  tell  you  what  a  writer, 
named  Southey,  wrote  about  this  big  fellow, 
when  he  went  to  make  him  a  visit,  some  time 
ago.     He  says: 

"We  ascended  one  of  the  towers  to  see  Great  Tom, 
the  largest  bell  in  England.  At  first  it  disappointed 
me,  but  this  disappointment  soon  wore  off,  and  we 
became  satisfied  that  it  was  as  great  a  thing  as  it  is 
said  to  be.  A  tall  man  might  stand  in  it  upright; 
the  mouth  measures  one  and  twenty  English  feet  in 
circumference,  and  it  would  be  a  large  tree  of  which 
the  girth  would  equal  the  size  of  the  middle.  The 
hours  are  struck  upon  it  with  a  hammer." 


TOM  GR O  WLER  AND  HIS  BR O  TIIERS.        1 8 1 

On  two  days  in  the  year  they  used  to  ring  it 
by  swinging  it.  One  of  these  was  Whitsunday, 
the  other  the  day  on  which  the  judges  come 
to  Lincohi  to  hold  the  court.  It  was  cracked  a 
few  years  ago,  and  has  never  been  used  since. 
Around  the  bell  runs  this  inscription ; 

*'The  Holy  Ghost,  proceedinor  from  the  Father 
and  the  Son,  sweetly  houndeth  to  salvation.  Anno 
Domini,  3  December,  1610,  in  the  8th  year  of  King 
James,  of  England,  44th  of  Scotland." 

Do  any  of  you  ask  why  they  gave  these  bells 
the  name  of  "Tom.?"  It  is  probably  because 
the  boom  of  a  great  bell  sounds  so  much  like 
the  word  "Tom!"  Tom  Growler,  however,  got 
his  first  name  of  Edward  in  another  way.  As 
long  ago  as  when  he  was  a  young  fellow,  it 
was  customary  in  England,  as  it  still  is  in  some 
other  countries,  to  christen  bells,  just  in  the 
same  way  as  some  folks  now  christen  babies. 
That  is,  the  priest  would  sprinkle  the  bell, 
"baptize"  it  as  they  called  it,  — and  give  it  a 
name.  Tom  was  "  baptized "  that  way,  and 
the  name  they  first  gave  him  was  Edward. 
England   was  a  Cathohc  country  at  that  time. 


1 82  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS    TRA  VELS. 

When  it  became  Protestant,  people  did  not  bap- 
tize bells  any  more;  and  as  they  did  not  think 
this  bell  I  speak  of  was  to  be  called  Edward  just 
because  the  priest  named  him  so,  and  as  he 
seemed  always  to  be  telling  the  world  that  his 
name  was  ^^TomV  they  finally  decided  that  his 
name  should  be  Tom,  and  Tom  it  is. 

Now,  I  do  not  know  whether  all  this  will 
interest  you  much;  but  it  will  at  least  describe 
to  you  some  of  the  curious  things  one  meets 
with  in  old  countries,  and  some  of  the  curious 
ways  of  people  there.  Then,  notice  the  inscrip- 
tion on  the  big  bell  at  Lincoln,  and  that  will 
give  you  something  good  to  think  about:  "The 
Holy  Ghost,  proceeding  from  the  Father  and  the 
Son,  sweetly  soundeth  to  salvation."  Let  us 
think  of  that,  dear  boys  and  girls,  every  time 
we  hear  the  church  bells  ring. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER   SEVENTEENTH. 


HUMMING-BIRD    CORNER. 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 
_<'^o_-^Y:i^  OU  know,  of  course,  what  a  museum 
is.  Now  the  British  Museum,  in 
London,  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
in  the  world.  Among  the  millions  of 
curious  things  which  it  contains  are  collections 
of  stuffed  animals  and  birds.  They  are  from 
almost  every  country  under  the  sun;  many  of 
them  strange  looking  creatures;  many  of  them 
marvelously  beautiful.  One  corner  in  the  part 
devoted  to  birds  I  call  "  humming-bird  corner." 
There  is  a  large  case  there,  containing  hundreds 
of  these  beautiful  creatures;  some  of  them  as 
large  as  a  small  sparrow,  some  of  them  no  bigger 
than  a  bean.     I  used  to  always  stop  at  this  corner 


184         UNCLE   JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS. 

in  passing  through,  and  have  another  good  look 
at  the  humming-birds. 

One  reason  why  I  loved  to  look  at  them  so, 
w^as  that  they  gave  me  some  pleasant  things  to 
think  about.  Among  them  was  this  —  that  evi- 
dently God  has  taken  just  as  much  pains  with  his 
little  creatures  as  with  his  great  creatures.  Near 
by  the  place  where  the  humming-birds  are  is 
another  where  they  keep  the  eagles.  You  know 
what  magnificent  birds  these  are.  The  eagle  is 
as  much  a  king  among  birds  as  the  lion  among 
beasts.  Here  I  saw  them,  great  bold-eyed, 
strong-winged  creatures,  with  talons,  or  claws,  in 
which,  while  living,  they  could  have  taken  up  a 
child  and  carried  him  away  through  the  air. 
There  were  eagles  from  the  Alps,  from  the  Him- 
alayas, from  the  Andes,  from  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, some  of  them  with  wings,  which,  when 
stretched  out,  must  have  measured  five  or  six  feet 
across.  It  seemed  to  me,  however,  that  in 
making  the  humming-birds,  God  had  taken  more 
pains,  if  I  may  speak  that  way,  than  in  making 
the  eagle; — certainly  not  less.  In  fact,  the  least 
of  the  little  birds  seemed  most  beautiful  and  most 
perfect,  if  possible,  of  all.     Some  tiny  creatures, 


HUMMING-BIRD  CORNER.  1 85 

scarcely  bigger  than  the  end  of  my  Httlc  finger, 
seemed  the  most  beautiful  things  I  ever  saw;  — 
their  form  was  so  perfect,  their  feathers  were  so 
delicate,  their  colors  so  brilliant. 

Now,  when  one  is  a  stranger  in  a  great  city 
like  London,  where  there  are  three  millions  of 
people,  scarcely  a  dozen  of  whom  know  anything 
of  him,  or  care  the  least  thing  in  the  w^orld  about 
him,  he  is  apt  to  feel  very  insignificant.  Among 
these  millions,  too,  there  are  a  great  many  of 
vastly  greater  importance  than  himself.  There  is 
the  Qiieen,  there  are  princes  and  princesses,  there 
are  ministers,  and  dukes,  and  lords,  and  other 
great  men  who  have  in  charge  great  affairs  that 
concern  not  only  the  nation,  but  the  world.  One 
in  such  circumstances  is  tempted  to  say:  "God 
will  notice  these  great  people,  of  course.  If  they 
need  his  help  and  care,  doubtless  he  will  give  it 
to  them,  especially  since  they  have  such  impor- 
tant things  to  look  after.  But  how  do  I  know 
that  he  cares  anything  for  me  .^" 

Then,  in  going  along  the  street,  perhaps  one 
sees  a  little  boy  or  girl  looking  utterly  friendless 
and  homeless,  ragged,  dirty,  pale  with  hunger, 
with  such  a  sorrowful  face !     One  may  feel  as  he 


l86  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRA  VELS. 

goes  by,  "  There  is  a  child  that  has  nobody  to 
care  for  him.  Nobody  cares  whether  he  Hves 
or  dies.  Nobody  cares  whether  or  not  he  has 
any  place  to  sleep  in  this  wet,  chilly  night,  or 
even  a  crust  for  his  supper.  Nobody  cares 
whether  his  soul  is  saved  or  lost.  What  a  poor, 
little  waif !  Just  like  some  faded  leaf  carried 
along  by  the  current  of  a  great  river." 

Or  perhaps  some  little  child  says,  "  I  don't 
think  God  notices  little  children  much,  or  cares 
very  much  about  them.  He  hears  grown-up 
people  when  they  pray,  especially  if  they  are 
persons  who  have  great  and  difficult  things  to 
do,  or  great  troubles  to  bear;  but  I  don't  know 
if  he  will  pay  any  attention  to  me  if  I  do  pray 
to  him." 

Now,  the  humming-birds  taught  me  a  lesson 
about  these  things.  There  is  nothing  too  little  to 
be  important  in  God's  eyes.  He  is  just  as  par- 
ticular in  making  little  things  as  in  making  big 
things;  just  as  careful  with  the  tiny  little  hum- 
ming-bird's bill,  that  is  to  have  nothing  greater 
to  do  than  suck  honey  from  a  flower,  as  he  is 
with  the  eagle's  beak,  that  will  tear  the  flesh 
of  mighty  beasts  —  paints  as  carefully  and  skill- 


HUMMING-BIRD  CORNER.  1 87 

fully  Its  diminutive  wing,  as  he  does  the  gaudy 
plumage  of  the  peacock.  Then  I  remembered 
these  words :  "  Take  heed  that  ye  offend  not 
one  of  these  little  ones,  for  I  say  imto  you  that 
in  heaven  their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face 
of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven^  This  is  the 
only  place  in  the  Bible  where  such  a  wonderful 
thing  is  said,  and  it  is  said  of  the  little  ones.  So 
I  have  learned  to  say,  "  Lord,  let  me  be  a  little 
one;  no  matter  how  little;  no  matter  how  much 
lost  in  the  world's  mighty  throng;  no  matter 
how  poor  and  insignificant.  Thou  wilt  not 
lose  sight  of  me,  but  will  love  me  all  the  more 
that  I  am  a  little  one." 

I  think  that  God  teaches  the  little  ones  in  a 
very  wonderful  way,  sometimes  in  the  deep- 
est and  most  difficult  things  of  his  kingdom. 
When  little  Jane,  "  the  Young  Cottager"  of  whom 
I  wrote  to  you  once  before,  was  dying,  her  pas- 
tor, Mr.  Richmond,  asked  her  if  she  felt  happy. 

She  said,  "  Yes." 

"  Do  you  think  that  when  you  die  you  will  be 
in  heaven.?" 

"  Yes,  very  sure,"  she  answered. 

"What  makes  you  think  so.?" 


1 88  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

She  pointed  with  her  weak  finger  towards 
heaven,  and  then  towards  her  own  bosom,  and 
replied,  "  Christ  thet-e^  and  Christ  here'^ 

It  is  seldom  that  even  old  and  experienced 
Christians  give  a  better  reason  for  the  hope  that 
is  in  them. 

Never  let  your  unbelief  make  you  think  that 
God  is  not  glad  to  hear  you  pray,  or  to  do  every- 
thing necessary  for  you;  above  all  to  prepare 
you,  through  his  grace  that  is  in  his  Son,  Jesus 
Christ,  for  death  and  for  heaven. 

Uncle  John. 


LETTER  EIGHTEENTH. 


NEVERSINK    HEIGHTS, 


Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

OW  that  I  am  "home  again,"  I  must 
write  you  one  more  letter,  and  then 
say  "  good-bye."  You  have  been  very 
patient  and  good,  if  you  have  read  all 
these  that  are  here  printed.  If  you  have  found 
in  them  something  which  it  will  be  pleasant  and 
profitable  to  you  to  remember,  I  shall  be  truly 
glad.  Something,  novv,  about  our  voyage  home 
will  finish  my  letters,  and  my  book. 

On  the  morning  of  the  twelfth  day  after  we 
sailed  from  Liverpool,  in  the  good  and  beautiful 
ship  "  Wisconsin,"  as  I  was  walking  the  deck  in 
the  after-part  of  the  ship  —  that  is  near  the  stern 
—  I  heard  some  boys  and  girls  cry  out,  "Come 
and  see  the  land!"   and  saw  them  run  with  all 


190  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS   TRAVELS^ 

their  might  the  wl\ole  length  of  the  vessel  to 
its  "forecastle"  or  prow.  They  did  not  say 
"Come!"  to  me,  but  I  thought,  nevertheless, 
that  I  should  like  to  see  the  land  too,  and  so  I 
w^ent.  With  my  old  eyes.  I  could  discover  noth- 
ing at  all  but  what  I  had  seen  for  the  twelve 
days  back,  that  is,  sea  and  sky,  but  taking  my 
glass  I  made  out,  directly  in  front  of  the  ship, 
far  away  on  the  western  horizon,  some  blue 
heights,  which  seemed  at  first  like  a  cloud,  but 
which  I  soon  perceived  were  the  welcome  land. 
The  "  forecastle "  is  where  the  "  steerage  pas- 
sengers," or  the  emigrants,  mostly  stay,  and  they 
had  crowded  now  to  the  extreme  forward  end 
of  the  ship,  and  were  gazing  across  the  waters 
at  the  same  distant  blue  hills.  They  were  prin- 
cipally Irish  or  Germans.  This  which  was 
before  them  was  their  first  view  of  what  was 
to  them  a  strange  land.  To  me  it  was  home^ 
and  it  seemed  wonderfully  beautiful  on  that 
bright  morning,  seen  across  the  blue  waters, 
rippling  under  a  balmy  breeze,  and  shining  in 
the  rays  of  the  blessed  sun. 

Turnino:   back    aofain,    after  a  while,  I   met  a 
gentleman    who    used    to   be   a  sea-captain,  and 


NE  VER  SINK  HEIGHTS,  1 9 1 

had  crossed  the  ocean,  he  told  me,  some  two  or 
three  hundred  times. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,"  I  asked  him,  "  what  land 
that  is?" 

"It  is  the  Heights  of  Neversink,"  he  said,  "in 
New  Jersey.  Just  there  our  ship  will  turn  into 
the  bay,  and  we  shall  then  soon  be  at  New  York." 

"  Neversink  Heights,"  I  thought,  "  it  is  a  good 
name."  Some  people,  I  believe,  call  them 
Navesink,  and  that  may  be  their  Indian  name 
for  aught  I  know,  but  I  shall  call  them  Never- 
sink. And  they  never  do  sink.  They  are  some 
of  the  "  everlasting  hills."  Ships  may  sink  out 
in  the  sea,  in  sight  of  them,  but  they  "  never 
sink."  Generation  after  generation  of  those  who 
live  on  or  near  them  may  sink  into  the  grave, 
but  they  stand  erect  just  the  same.  The  storm 
raging  onward  from  the  sea  tries  to  overthrow 
them,  but  it  cannot.  The  winter  strips  their 
green  woods  of  their  beauty,  but  the  summer 
clothes  them  again.  The  torrents  that  run  down 
their  sides  seek  to  carry  them  aw^ay  into  the 
ocean;  but  the  firm  hills  only  smile  at  the  feeble 
attempt.  Till  all  the  v\^orld's  mountains  sink, 
these  will  "  never  sink." 


192  UNCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

Now,  dear  children,  are  there  any  other 
"Heights  of  Neversiiik?"  any  which  you  your- 
selves may  sometimes  discover  blue  in  the  dis- 
tance as  you  sail  upon  another  sea,  towards 
another  city?  Any  which,  perhaps,  you  may 
visit  and  climb?  I  think  there  are.  The  Heiglits 
of  Truth  are  Heights  of  Neversink.  The  Heights 
of  Divine  Promise  are  Heights  of  Neversink. 
The  Heights  of  Christian  Hope  are  Heights  of 
Neversink;  and  many  a  one,  climbing  to  their 
summit,  has  seen  the  Celestial  City,  near  at  hand 
or  far  away,  its  spires  glittering  in  that  glory  of 
the  Lord  which  is  its  sun  by  day  and  its  moon 
by  night. 

But  there  is  another  thing  I  must  tell  you. 
When  I  got  my  first  view  of  Neversink  Heights 
the  ship  was  going  directly  towards  them.  If 
we  had  kept  right  on,  without  stopping,  the  sails 
full  and  the  engine  going,  we  should  have  been 
dashed  upon  the  shore,  and  what  had  been  so  wel- 
come, as  we  saw  it  out  at  sea,  would  have  been 
our  ruin.  Suppose,  now,  a  ship  should  be  sailing 
there  some  dark  and  stormy  night,  with  not  a 
star  to  be  seen,  and  nothing  to  show  whether 
any   land   was  near  or  not.     The  wind  carries  it 


NEVERSIMK  HEIGHTS.  19^ 

forward  with  furious  speed  tlirouo^h  the  dark- 
ness, while  the  man  on  the  lookout  tries  in  vain 
to  see  if  there  is  any  danger  ahead.  There  is 
(langer  there,  is  there  not?  Unless  in  some  way 
those  who  sail  the  ship  are  warned,  they  will 
he  driven  upon  the  shore  and  wrecked  and  lost. 
To  prevent  such  disasters  as  this  a  lighthouse  is 
placed  at  Ncversink  Heights,  just  at  the  point 
where  ships  must  turn  to  go  up  into  the  bay. 
And  now,  when  the  sailor  comes  near  those 
Heights  in  the  dark  night,  he  sees  the  friendly 
beacon,  and  knows  that  up  by  way  of  the  light- 
house is  the  safe  passage  into  the  harbor  and  on 
to  the  city. 

Now,  I  think  that  the  youngest  of  you  can 
understand  that  we  need  to  know  not  only  what 
the  truth  is,  but  where  it  is,  and  how  by  means 
of  it  to  find  our  way  to  the  city  of  God.  There 
are  some,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  who  go  to  wreck 
upon  the  truth  itself.  Does  not  the  apostle  speak 
of  the  Gospel  as  ''the  savour  of  death  unto  death" 
to  some,  while  ''  the  savour  of  life  unto  life  "  to 
others.?  God's  Revealed  Word  is  the  Light- 
house. This  shows  us  what  the  truth  is,  where 
it  is,  and  makes  us  understand  that  he  has  planted 
9 


194  UMCLE  JOHN  UPON  HIS  TRAVELS. 

these  Neversink  Heights  here  in  this  world,  not 
for  us  to  run  our  ships  upon,  but  that  they  may 
point  us  the  way  to  the  Blessed  Harbor  and  to 
tlie  Celestial  City.  Does  il  not  seem  strange 
that  any  should  despise  the  friendly  light,  sail 
on  just  as  if  there  was  no  light  there,  and  be 
"ground  to  powder"  against  that  which  was 
meant,  not  for  their  destruction,  but  for  their 
salvation  ? 

These  are  some  of  the  things  which  Never- 
sink Heights  made  me  think  about,  and  I 
thought  I  would  just  mention  them  to  you 
because  I  want  you  all  to  love  the  Truth,  and 
to  so  use  the  Truth  that  you  may  be  saved.  You 
are  in  sight  of  Neversink  Heights  every  time 
you  learn  aright  a  lesson  of  God's  blessed  Word; 
you  have  the  Heights  and  the  Lighthouse  both. 
Don't  let  the  man  at  the  helm  —  that  obstinate 
fellow  who^n  we  call  Will  —  don't  let  him  steer 
the  good  ship  so  as  to  wreck  it  against  the  Truth, 
but  so  as  that  the  Truth  may  guide  you  and 
light  ^-ou  safe  home  to  God.  In  other  words, 
be  willing  —  humbly,  meekly  willing — to  con- 
fess every  sin,  and  to  trust  in  Jesus  only,  only^ 
ONLY,  for  the  pardon  of  them  all. 


NE  VERSINK  HEIGHTS.  1 95 

And  now,  good-bye.  It  seems  odd,  does  it 
not,  to  say  "  good-bye "  just  as  I  am  coming 
home?  But  then,  you  see,  ev^en  if  I  continue 
to  be  "  Uncle  John,"  I  shall  not  be  ■••  Uncle  Jolm 
Upon  his  Travels"  any  more.  I  am  almost  sorry 
that  I  shall  not.  It  has  been  nice  to  see  so 
many  interesting  things,  and  it  has  made  me 
very  happy  to  tell  you  of  some  of  them.  But 
it  does  not  answer  to  be  running  about  and 
looking  up  pleasant  sights  all  one's  life,  and  so 
I  come  home  to  my  w^ork  again.  Good-bye, 
then.  God  bless  and  save  every  one  of  you. 
God  raise  you  up  many  and  many  better  friends 
than  Uncle  John  has  known  how  to  be.  Above 
all,  may  he  himself  be  your  friend,  and  nothing 
can  be  better  than  that. 

Uncle  John. 


